Art of Murder: Hunt for the Puppeteer
by Fruityferret
Summary: Brittany and Eleanor are on a PI job collecting news on a killer who's started killing in Paris. But Brittany finds herself in the middle of a murder investigation when Eleanor leaves her on her own to catch the Puppeteer. Can she stop him on her own?
1. Meeting the Inspector

**Heehee…**

**I know, this story was really unexpected.**

**Okay, my 'why' for this story being posted is because I've never had a story Brittany based before and I don't feel that's right.**

**I also just played the game called ART OF MURDER: Hunt for the Puppeteer. I liked it soooooooo much! I thought it would be fun to make a story out of it 'cause the storyline was awesome.**

**So I hope you like it. I only take credit for putting the story in fanfiction mode and NOTHING ELSE!**

**Please Read and Review.**

**Oh! Quick note- (I HAVE DECIDED I WILL NOT START GW: GHOST WHISPERS UNTIL NEXT YEAR!)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**(Paris, 15 April 20:00 hrs.)**

Twenty-four year old Brittany got out of the cab and sighed. She was not happy. True, she was in Paris, but not for the reasons she wanted to be.

Eleanor had gotten her into this. She was working undercover for some jobs for the FBI. Brittany had taken some training but not much. Not the kind people with a passion for it did.

Brittany hadn't wanted to take it at first but Eleanor had been so convincing. She had promised Brittany that she would make sure she did all the legwork and Brittany could' watch and learn.' Not only that, Brittany really wanted to come to Paris, but finding out she'd be working the whole time was a letdown.

Brittany picked up her bags and headed toward her room. She didn't see a clerk but didn't need to. She already had a key.

She went to her room on the third floor and started to unpack. Once she was done, she set up her laptop on the desk and took out the case file. She wanted to read over it one more time before heading to the crime scene. She also had to wait for Eleanor.

Looking over the file, she shivered from her head to her toes. The killer, or the Puppeteer, was a sick psychopathic serial killer. He had already killed four people in the States, and now here he was in Paris, killing again.

Why? No one knew. It was still a mystery.

Suddenly, her cell phone ring. She pulled it out of her bag. "Hello?"

"Brittany? Are you at the hotel?"

"Yes, El, where are you?"

"I'm uh, not to far…"

"Okay, well hurry here. We need to get to the crime scene."

"Can't, sorry."

Brittany was shocked. "What do you mean you can't come. You are on the case."

"I know, and so are you so you can go for me."

"Are you kidding me? No! I'm not doing this!"

"Don't worry I'm just a little late. All you have to do is go to the Ballet Rehearsal Room. Take a cab. Talk to Officer Pety about the murder, take some notes and collect the evidence they missed. You'll probably have to improvise with the stuff at hand."

"I'm confused," Brittany said.

"Trust me Britt, the French police are okay, but not great. Especially on the weekend since they're off in a couple of hours."

"But El, you're trained for this kind of thing-"

"So are you, Britt. I've seen you talk plenty of people into things." Eleanor paused for a moment. "I'll meet up with you afterward okay? We'll go over it together. But I've got to go and so do you. Neither of us have much time." Then she hung up.

Brittany sighed and picked up her bag with her camera and journal in it. _I should've known she was going to pull something like this, _she thought before she headed out the door. *

Brittany couldn't help but think about trying to catch the killer. She thought even Jeanette would be better at this than her, even though Jeanette was more into paranormal type now.

Brittany never thought Jen would want to be the one into that kind of thing. She was pretty easy to scare but Jeanette had started watching paranormal shows and then starting reading on it. Suddenly one day she announced she was going into the field herself.

But Brittany had to give Jeanette credit though. Even she looked at the facts before believing there was ever a ghost. But after helping Jeanette once with something she thought included 'shadow people', Brittany promised from then on to stay away from the paranormal.

"We are here, Mademoiselle," the cab driver said.

"Thanks." Brittany handed him the cash and left the cab. She stood there, outside of the Ballet Rehearsal Room. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst.

Inside, she walked down the hall and into the first room on the left. It was a big room. Empty, except for the piano, working desk, police officer, and the body hanging from the wall by strings.

Brittany was taken aback. Once again, the Puppeteer had struck; she knew it was the same guy form the pictures in the case file. The body was positioned as if the ballerina were simply sitting down, resting her head. But it was obvious she was dead.

Brittany walked over to the police officer standing near the body. He was a husky man with a five 'o clock shadow and kind of a messy suit along with messy grey hair. She guessed he was the Inspector.

"Hello," Brittany said. "I'm Brittany Miller, private investigator from the FBI agency in New York."

"Bonsoir, when did it happen?"

"Excuse me?" Brittany asked, confused.

"When did the 18th District become part of New York?" He clarified.

"My visit was arranged," Brittany explained. "Weren't you informed?"

"We've got a custom here; we try not to annoy each other before the weekend."

Brittany huffed. "I see that courtesy is no longer practiced here in Paris."

"Sorry mademoiselle, if you're just here to enjoy Paris, than I'm happy to serve."

_I wish that was all I was here for, _she thought. "I'm here because your higher ups called our FBI for help because they think this is the work of a serial killer we've nicknamed 'the Puppeteer' that we believe has moved to France."

He just stared at her for a moment. "I'm sorry to say you won't be able to take part in the investigation here."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to take any credit, it's all yours. Trust me, I'm just an observer."

"Well, in that case, don't touch anything."

Brittany nodded and looked closely at the body. It was a ballerina. She was sitting on the bench next to an overturned chair. The top half of her body was slouching but still held up with the strings.

"Can I ask a question," Brittany turned back to him, curious.

"Of course, the Yanks are allowed to learn too."

"How was she killed?"

"We'll know that after the autopsy," Officer Pety said.

"I don't see any wounds or blood on the body."

"There are numerous other ways to kill a human you know," he contradicted.

"Yes, but our Puppeteer cuts our victims arteries and lets them slowly bleed to death," she explained.

"Such a lack of haste shows great self-confidence."

Brittany started pacing, thinking about all this carefully. "If it really was the Puppeteer that killed her, he must have killed her earlier and then brought her here!"

"But why go to all the trouble?"

"That's the very essence of the case, Inspector. The effort put into killing this beautiful girl and then posing her like in a painting of Degas."

"You Americans really are really crazy about our artist, aren't you?"

"The killer doesn't have to be American," she went on. "But as far as we know the Puppeteer stopped killing in the States."

Inspector Pety nodded. "A Frenchman, perhaps. He is an artist, am I right?"

"All we know about the Puppeteer was sent over to your office. Haven't you looked over it yet?"

"Maybe on Monday," he said. "Right now it is time for a break. I would like to invite for margret de canard at a certain restraint."

Brittany stepped back a bit, remembering what Eleanor had told her. "Can I stay here for a little bit longer?

Inspector Pety looked skeptical. "Well, my colleges are waiting for me…"

"I'd like to look around a bit more," she said trying to be convincing more for herself than him.

He shrugged and started for the door. "I guess it's never too late to learn. But don't touch anything. That officer out there by the door will stay here and wait for the coroner to come pick up the body."

"I'll make it. It won't take long," she assured him.

"Great, and do you know why I picked this officer to wait here?"

Brittany smiled and caught on. "Because you don't like him?"

"Oui! Bravo, Brittany." Then he left.

Brittany stood there for a minute. It was strange standing there with a dead body and nothing but a camera. _Well… I guess I should start taking pictures._

She pulled her camera out and her cellphone started to ring. She picked it up, hoping it was Eleanor. Tough luck.

"Brittany, you there yet," the gruff voice said.

"Yeah Boss, I'm here, without Eleanor."

"That doesn't matter," he said. "Do you know anything about the killer yet?"

"Well, we have another girl dead. But I'm not sure if we have the Puppeteer's handiwork here. I mean, it could be a copycat. The press did write a lot about the killer here."

"Find out as quickly as you can."

"Well the French police asked for our help but the Inspector is keeping things away from me. Can't you intervene or something."

"Not everything can be done through official channels. You'll have to convince him somehow."

"He doesn't want me here, though."

"Maybe he's threatened by you. You know, on a professional level. But it doesn't matter. Collect some photos and documents and send them to me today! I don't care what you have to do."

"I-I c-c-can't work behind his back! I'm not good at that stuff. Maybe we should just wait for Eleanor. She knows-"

"Listen," he interrupted. "You don't have much time. My accountant is asking me about these bills from Paris."

"I know sir but-"

He ignored her. "This can't drag on endlessly."

Brittany sighed. "I'm doing the best that I can."

"I want this trip of yours to be a success but if you fail, I won't be the one to go down."

"Are you threatened by me already, Boss?" She asked smugly.

"Enough of that. Get to work! I want those pictures!" Then he hung up.

_Okay Brittany, you've gotta get this one right. Lets start with the body._ She turned to the girl and felt a shiver go up her spine. _Maybe I should talk to the officer first. Then I'll fell a little better._

Brittany walked out of the room and looked down the hall. He was sitting the next to the door, reading the newspaper.

Composing herself, she walked up to him and professionally introduced herself.

"Hello, mademoiselle. Is everything alright?"

"Yes. But I wanted to know how you were able to examine the room properly without the lights?"

"The light was much better then. The windows are really big."

"Right. But wasn't anybody interested that the wiring was broken," she asked, pointing to the fuse box next to her. The wires looked like they were cut. "In a rehearsal room?"

He shook his head. "Do you have any ideas?"

Brittany shrugged. "Maybe the killer did it."

"But why? Couldn't he simply just turn off the lights?"

"Perhaps he wanted to hide something from us in the darkness," she said. "Or maybe he wanted to draw our attention to something?"

The officer went back to his newspaper. "That's an original thought."

"Maybe we have an original killer," she said, walking back toward the rehearsal room. _I hope not…_

Back in the room, Brittany walked over to the body, camera in hand. She started taking pictures when she saw something on the floor. It was a doll.

She kneeled down and looked closely at it. She was sure it had to have been the Puppeteer. At all of his other crime scenes he had left a Victorian looking doll next to the bodies. It was handmade, just like all the other ones.

_I need to put it in something, _she thought. Then she remembered she didn't have anything to carry it in. She was there with practically nothing!

She looked around and saw the desk on the other side of the room. Walking over to it, she checked in the desk draw. There in the first drawer, were plastic baggies. _Well, Eleanor did say to improvise. _

She took out the baggies. Sitting next to them was a roll of clear tape and a small pack of cotton swabs and matches. She put the tape and matches in her small bag and walked back over to the girl.

She leaned down and took a picture of the doll before putting it in one of the baggies. Checking over the body, she saw something glittering near the girl's mouth. _Could she have been drugged with something?_

She used the cotton swab on the evidence then put it away. _Inspector Pety isn't as good as he thinks._

Suddenly, a creeking noise was coming from her left. She walked over to the windows. One of the top ones was open. It was really annoying.

She saw a wooden pole lying on the floor. She picked it up and used it to close the window. While doing so, she saw that the bigger window below it had a smudge. It was a fingerprint. _This is great, _she thought.

After closing the window, she looked around for something to collect the fingerprint with. Quickly, she took a picture of it. _I need fingerprint powder… Or something near it. _

She walked back over to the desk. In the bottom right drawer, there was a sheet of paper under a giant stapler. The only thing she didn't see was a pencil. _Just my luck._

She left the Reahearsal room and went down the hallway to the front door where the officer was still posted, waiting for the coroner.

"Do you have a pencil I could use?" She asked.

"Will a pen do?" he asked, looking around for one.

"No, I really need a pencil," she said.

"Oh wait, I have one." He handed her the pencil.

Brittany quickly went back to the room and to the desk. Using the stapler, she broke the black lead of the pencil into dust. Using it, she dusted it over the fingerprint carefully. Finished, she put the tape over the print to pick it up.

She was about to put it in the bag when she thought of something. Brittany tore a piece of paper from the desk and taped the print onto it. _There, now it won't smudge. _Putting it away, she looked around the room once more.

_I guess I'm done. _Brittany walked over to the girls once more. "I'm sorry that this had to happen to you," she said quietly. "I promise my sister will catch your killer and I'll do everything I can to help. Don't worry."

Suddenly, her arm moved. Brittany let out a cry and stepped back. Her foot went into a loose bored on the floor that made her trip and fall backward.

She sat up and looked and the body. The string holding up her arm had come loose. Brittany rolled her eyes. _Great, now I have both of Jeanette's old traits. I'm a scaredy-cat and a klutz. _

Lifting her foot up, she was relieved to see it was only a scratch. Looking at the floor, she saw the board that had let loose. Picking it up, she saw that the back of it had the letters 1793 written on it. _Another clue?_

Quickly, she went out to the officer. "I have some evidence that the Inspector missed. Do you think you can catch him at your department?"

"Well, he's not going to be happy."

"Don't worry, when he sees what I found for him, he'll be jumping for joy," she joked.

"Doubt it, but I'll give it to him."

Brittany waved. "Thanks," she said and walked out.

On the street, she saw a cab and hailed it down. She knew she needed to get back to her room and send over the pictures. It stopped and she headed for it. But she turned around when she felt someoeone watching her.

Looking, she didn't see anyone. The cab honked. _Stop it Brittany, you're just being paranoid, _she thought before getting into the cab.


	2. Where's Eleanor

**Yeah, next chapter.**

**Okay so I only want to say one thing… PLEASE REVIEW!**

**But anyway, I hope you like it. I've found a lot more time on my hands because of the snow. Pray it snows everywhere for Christmas!**

**Luv ya! Enjoy!**

**(Paris 15 20:40 hrs.)**

Brittany got out of the cab, paying him the money before he sped off. _I hope Eleanor is here, _she thought. She didn't was to go on without her. This was Eleanor's case and Brittany didn't feel qualified enough for it. She had only done one case before and had almost completely screwed that one up.

Brittany turned around and walked into the hotel. She couldn't help but feel a little peace in the cozy, quiet hotel.

Walking through the small lobby on the beautiful red carpet, she noticed suitcases sitting on the floor. She wondered who would just leave them there. Turning to her right was the reception desk and the hotel manager, who looked like he was in his sixties, was standing there.

He looked up at her and smiled. "Bonsoir, how was your day?"

"Busy, I guess," she replied.

"Well than it's time for you to eat some," he told her.

Brittany thought about it for a moment but she wasn't really in the mood to eat anything. "I'm not really hungry… But sure. What would you recommend?"

"Hachis parmentier? It is a casserole made with potatoes and minced meat."

"Uh, could I have something a little simpler?"

"I'm afraid we don't serve pizza," he replied.

Brittany laughed. "I sure you'll find something."

"Oui, madame."

"Has anyone come here looking for me?"

He shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"Thanks anyway," she said. Brittany looked over at the clock. "I need to go make a phone call."

"Okay, be back down in half an hour."

Brittany nodded and headed back upstairs to her room. She was still amazed by how beautiful the room was. It had red satin curtains over large balcony windows, along with a large bed and nice painted walls. She wished she could take more time to relax and enjoy it but she had other things to do.

She sat down at her desk with the camera. She hoped she could remember how to do this right.

She connected the camera to the computer and started downloading the pictures. _Now all I have to do is send them… _

But after trying twice, she got the same loss of connection screen. Then she remembered that she forgot to connect the antenna.

Sighing, she got up to search her bags for it. Finally, she found it and it's adapter cords. She hooked up the small box antenna and its plug. Brittany pulled out the lamp plug near the desk to plug in the antenna. Turns out, the plug for the antenna didn't fit into the socket.

Brittany rolled her eyes, irritated. _You've got to be kidding me! _she thought. _If I don't send the pictures the boss is going to kill me._

Glancing over at the lamp, she had a sudden thought. Once, Jeanette had told her about connecting outputs into lamps. She said all you needed was a lamp that had the same voltage and some simple wires.

Quickly, she turned the lamp over. It's voltage was 12. Looking on the back of the antenna, she saw it was the same. She took the antenna plug out of the adapter then unscrewed the light bulb. Now all she would need is some wires.

Brittany searched the room for about ten minutes looking for something she could use. But she couldn't find anything. _Dammit!_

She went downstairs to the lobby, hoping she could ask the hotel manager if he had anything she could use. He wasn't behind the desk. She rang the bell on the desk. Nothing.

Brittany walked outside the front doors. The smell of something delicious hit her nose. She walked next door to the café.

Over there, she saw the beautiful small brick café brightly lit. The front lawn was quite small but held at least six tables. The hotel manager was sitting at the first one talking to a pretty young woman.

Brittany walked up to their table. "There you are! I need to ask you for something."

He smiled. "Oh, hello. Would you like to join us?" He looked over at the girl. "Sylvie Leroux, Ms. Miller."

"Hi, how are you," Brittany said.

She nodded. "Pleased to meet you."

"So, what is it that you need?"

"I wanted to ask if you have an adapter," Brittany asked, then added quickly, "I need to charge my cellphone."

"This is a common problem," he told. "Which is why I buy these from time to time."

Brittany was relieved. "Great!"

"Unfortunately, some absent-minded guest took them and I don't have any at the moment. But I'll be sure to get some tomorrow."

Brittany sighed. By that time she'd be without a job. "Well, do you have a piece of wire I could use?"

He thought for a moment. "I might. What kind are we talking about?"

"Just a small, thin wire," she told him.

"How about a hair clip," Sylvie spoke up. "I have a few lying in my purse." She pulled one out.

"Perfect! Thanks," she said, taking it from Sylvie.

"No problem."

Brittany went back to her room quickly. She bent the wire and stuck the hairclip in, praying she wouldn't get shocked. Bending the wire, she put the antenna plug in. She was happy to see that it fit. She clicked the lamp on the light on the antenna turned on. _Yes! _The green light on it started flickering.

Once again she tried to send the pictures but it didn't connect. She looked at it and pushed the button. The antenna extended. Hopefully now it would connect.

Finally, she was able to send the pictures over. She picked up her cellphone to call the office.

"New York, FBI office, how can I help you," an older woman's voice said.

"Hey Ruth, it's Brittany."

"Oh, hi dear. Where are you? In the jungle again?"

She rolled her eyes. "Haha, very funny. No, I'm in Paris," she told her.

"Oh yes, I see some pictures coming through from there," Ruth said. "What would you like me to do with them?"

"Give them to nick and have him look-"

"Sorry hun," she interrupted. "Nick's not here."

_As usual, _she thought. "Well, give them to Fred then and have him comparer the stuff with the Puppeteer's work."

"I'll do that. When are you coming back?"

"Soon, I guess," she said. "Eleanor's not here with me, and the police aren't letting me do much of anything here. So I guess when she shows up we'll head back."

"Well, tell her I said hi. Good luck to you both."

Thanks," she said and hung up. _I might just need it…_

**(Paris 15, 21:13 hrs.)**

Brittany walked down to the lobby, frustrated. She had called Eleanor twice in the past twenty minutes and had left her a message but she still had no answer from her.

When her cellphone started ringing, she really hoped it was her absentee sister. Once again, tough luck.

"Hello?"

"Inspector Pety."

"Oh, Inspector, nice to hear from you. Did you get the evidence from the officer?"

"Yeah," he said. "We'll analyze it later. But I'm calling because the brass asked me to pass on some news."

"What?" Brittany was sure he didn't wantt to tell her.

"We've got another murder. It looks like the same perp," he said, glumly.

Brittany was shocked. The killer had struck again so soon. "Where?"

"It's Montmartre," he said.

"I'll come there then, okay?"

"Whatever suits your fancy, but you'll have to find it on your own. Rue de Nouveau 5/13." He said and hung up.

_Great, _Brittany thought, putting her cellphone back in her pocket. _Once again, there's a murder and a crime scene and my sister is NOT here! Why does she and Nick do this to me?_

She quickly went to the reception desk. Pierre, the manager, was standing there.

"Hello, mademoiselle. And what can I do for you?"

"Can you call me a cab? I'm…uh, a little restless."

"But what about dinner?"

"Just put it in the fridge for me," she said quickly.

"Okay, but it won't taste as good reheated," he said. Pierre walked to through the back doors. A moment later, he came back. "It'll be here any minute. You know," he added. "I think you should take a walk to Place de Tertre."

"You mean the artist square?" She recalled.

"More like tourist but it's so nice that artist paint portraits there for a few euros..."

"I really don't have time," she said sadly. And started to leave.

"But you are so pretty. I'm sure those artist would be climbing over one another to paint you."

She looked down on the desk and saw a pamphlet. She picked it up and started to read it. It was for a car rental.

"How about I just rent a car? Then I won't need on keep calling cabs," she suggested.

"It's not a good idea to be driving around in the day. You should take the subway or bus."

"But at this time of day it wouldn't be a problem, right?" She insisted.

"I guess not…"

"Great! Can you get me one tonight?" She asked.

He shook his head at her anxiousness. "Sorry, no it's much to late."

"Tomorrow then?"

He sighed. "It'll be here by then."

**(Paris 15, 21:33 hrs.)**

At Montmartre, Brittany got out of the cab and walked up to the building. It was an older apartment building. The outside looked battered but it was large enough.

Brittany walked past the two police cars and stopped at the door. She saw something in the corner of her eye. When she looked over there was an empty street. Had someone been there?

Shaking the thought out of her mind, she walked on inside. There were seven flights of stairs and an out of order elevator. Brittany stopped on the 6th floor to take a breath. _I need to go to the gym more often._

She looked over at the first door. There was a baby carriage next to it. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the woman who had to use it.

Brittany made the last two flight of stairs up to the top floor. There, by the banister, stood the officer she had seen earlier. _Wow, Inspector Pety must really not like him._

"Didn't let you go, huh?" She asked.

"No, and I was halfway out the door. The Inspector must really hate me."

"You're not the only one."

"He's not the only one to hate me," he explained. "Criminals love to make us work weekends."

"What about the victim?"

He shook his head. "It was another girl."

Brittany sighed. "Why can't men just stick to killing each other? Any evidence?"

The officer shrugged. "You'll have to ask the Inspector. But I think he's busy now."

"Is that know-it-all here?" The Inspector called from the apartment. "Send her in."

Brittany walked into the apartment. It looked like one gigantic dark blue loft. There were to windows on the other side. Under one, there was a desk. Right next to it there was a very large dresser. She saw a tv next to a brick wall with a painting hanging over it next to her. It looked like there had been a fight in the room. There was stuff scattered all over the floor and the coffee table was turned over.

The Inspector was standing next to the body, which was thankfully covered up. Large white strings hung from the rafters of the room. Behind them, was what seemed to be an open bedroom.

She walked over to the Inspector. "I'm here, Inspector."

"What's a pretty woman like you doing here? You should be enjoying Paris," he said.

_Why must everyone bring that up? _But she knew she had to convince the inspector to let her look around.

Brittany set on her charm. She needed information. "Well, since I'm already here, why don't you tell me about the suspect?"

"Sure. He's an American. He goes by the name Jack Dupree."

"How long has he been here?"

"Several weeks. Fits your Puppeteer."

She looked down at the body. Just like the other girl, she felt sadness come over her. "So, who's the victim?"

"Jacqueline Lorrain. Another Dancer, this time from the Moulin Rouge," he said.

She looked at the ropes and hooks. "Was her body arranged too?"

He nodded. "He hung her above the floor, as if she were doing a grand jete`," he said, then pointed to were the strings hung. "Just over there where the blood stain is."

"Blood?" She said. "That doesn't sound like the Puppeteer. He always prepares his victims carefully."

The Inspector rolled his eyes. "He must've been in a rush. You Americans think that these people are artist but they're not."

"Did he at least leave a doll?"

He shook his head. "No, but I think he was in a rush this time. Someone startled him."

"Really, you have a witness?"

"Yes, it's a women living in the apartment downstairs. She didn't see the murder, but not to worry. We'll have the killer in our grasp in a matter of hours! We'll squeeze him like a lemon."

"Can I be there for his interrogation?" Brittany asked.

"You really want to sit with us in those stuffy rooms?"

_No, not really. _"I have to, Inspector. We have to make sure he's the Puppeteer," she explained. "You see, I'll be heading back to the States soon and I really need something for my boss."

"I guess your boss is driving you hard too."

"I knew you'd understand," she said and smiled sweetly at him. "After all, neither of us is sitting in a cozy café right now."

"Yes, work destroys true human relationships, doesn't it?" Brittany had to keep from rolling her eyes at him. "I hope we'll have the opportunity to get to know each other better on private grounds?"

"Maybe," she said.

"Here," he reached into his pocket. "Take my card. The design is lovely."

"It is," she said, slipping it into her pocket. "Can I take a look around?"

"There's no need, we really did check everything thoroughly this time."

"Oh that's not what I meant…"

"Stop nosing around here for now, Ms. Miller, we''ll send you the files," he added before dismissing her.

Brittany walked out of the apartment and onto the small hallway ledge where the officer was standing. "Do you know the witness's name?"

He nodded. "Yes, Agnes Grouchet."

"What did she say?"

"I'm sorry miss, but you'll have to ask the Inspector."

Brittany sighed. She knew the Inspector was pretty much done with her and she wasn't going to get anything from him. She'd just have to do it herself.

Brittany walked down the two flights of stairs and walked to the woman's apartment door with the baby carriage outside of it. She knocked twice.

The young lady opened the door. "What is it?

"Hello, I'm Brittany Miller and I wanted to ask you a few questions."

"I already gave my statement so leave me alone!" She said and tried to slam the door but Brittany stopped her.

"Just a few questions," she said calmly.

"I don't know you!"

Brittany took out the Inspector's business card. "Inspector Pety is busy and he wanted me to ask you a few things."

"Please let me sleep! I'm already at my wits end."

"Madam Grouchet, this man is out there and we need to stop him. We might just save someone's life," she explained.

"And mine doesn't mean anything?

"Don't worry, you're safe," she assured the broken up women. "Now, did you get a good look at him?"

"He was in a rush but it was definitely that American, Jack Dupree."

"What was he like as a person?"

"Pretty quiet, he kept to himself."

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary besides the fact he was in a rush?"

"Well," she paused for a long moment. "Oh! He dropped something on the curb of the the road and didn't bother to pick it up."

"Thanks," she said to the woman. Quickly, Brittany headed down the stairs and out the door. She saw a grate on the other side of the curb and looked in. Inside was a shiny object. A closer looked revealed it was a bracelet.

_Maybe it is my lucky day, _she thought. She tried to reach but her fingers didn't slide through. _Maybe it isn't. _Brittany pulled on the side of the grate with all her strength. Finally, it gave way.

She grabbed the bracelet. It was real gold and it was gorgeous. _Wow…_

A few minutes later, Brittany thought it would be best to head to the hotel.

Once she got there, she walked out the cab, then stopped. She had that feeling like someone was watching her again. She looked around and no one was on the road.

Trying to shake the feeling, she walked into the hotel. When she saw who was standing at the receptions desk, she gasped.

"Eleanor!"


	3. Shot!

**Yeah, I got this story updated. **

**Huh… I'm still depressed over my great grandma dying. But you know, she was old and you got to move on.**

**I went to the funeral right after I updated the last chapter right before we went to the funeral…**

**But I really appreciate you guys reading my stuff and please don't hesitate to review. **

**Now, on with the story!**

* * *

**(Paris, 15 22:09)**

Eleanor snapped back from her thoughts.** "**Oh, hey, Brit," she said, happily. "How's it going?"

Brittany couldn't believe what she was hearing. Eleanor shows up, late for the investigation and she's acting like there's nothing wrong, Brittany thought.

She walked up to her sister, "Eleanor, where in the world have you been. I've been running around Paris all night doing _your _job!"

"Calm down Brittany, it's not that big of deal," Eleanor told her, shrugging. "And besides, we're both here. So we're both on the case,"

"Well it's not going so well," she said. "That sleazy police inspector…"

"Inspector Pety?"

"Yeah him, not only is he keeping us from investigating, but he's beem hitting on me,. Can you believe that?"

Eleanor giggled. "Well, Brittany, you are a pretty girl."

Brittany just rolled her eyes. The she asked, "Tell me El, where have you been?"

"My… uh… plane was late," she said nervously, turning away.

"Don't lie to me Eleanor, you were supposed to get here before me," Brittany said. "What's your next one?"

"Listen, I've been busy is all, but the important thing is I'm here now," she said. "So tell me everything."

Brittany explained to her sister everything that had happened so far. After she told Eleanor about the most recent murder, Eleanor spirit seemed to go down.

"Do you have pictures?"

Brittany nodded and handed her the camera. As Eleanor looked through the pictures, the hotel manager walked out from the kitchen to the reception desk. "Ms. Miller, there was a young man here asking for you."

Brittany looked at him, confused. "Who?"

"He didn't say his name but left a note for you," he said, handing it to her.

Her and Eleanor looked at it. Brittany read it quietly enough for only the two of them to hear.

"_I'm innocent. Please meet me at the Pont des Invalides at eleven p.m. don't tell the police. Jack Dupree."_

Brittany finished and looked at Eleanor. "I need to call the Inspector."

Eleanor shook her head quickly. "No Brit, he might actually be innocent, and you know the Inspector, he'll make sure Jack goes to jail no matter what."

"What makes you think he's innocent?"

"Well for one, this doesn't fit a serial killer's profile. And another," she explained. "Is that this was way too easy. I mean, he killed four people in the States and we didn't come close to catching him. Something is really off."

Brittany could feel that too. Something was off about the whole thing. "Okay, so we'll go down there and confront him and see for ourselves."

Eleanor shook her head again. "No I think it's better if you go alone," she said. Before Brittany could protest she explained why. "Think about it, Brit. He said no police, which means whatever he knows, he'll tell you if you're alone."

"But maybe that's just what he wants. Maybe he wants to get me alone then God knows what!"

"Calm down Brittany, Pont des Invalides is a public bridge. He'd been an idiot to try anything there."

Brittany was terrified at the thought of being all alone with a murder suspect. She knew her sister was trying to play it off, but that was easy for her. Eleanor did the things she knew was right without a second thought. But she on the other hand didn't have that bravery first instinct.

"Can't you go, El," she pleaded. "I don't think I can do this."

"Yes you can, I believe in you," she said assuringly. "If I didn't think you could do this I would never of recommended you for the job." She handed Brittany a brown case. "I'll stay here and look over the files to catch up. And unpack," she added.

"Why did you just hand me my laptop case with my computer in it?" She said pointing to the small brown case in her hand.

"For safety purposes," she explained. "When it comes down to it, if you ever need an on-hand weapon that little purse slung around your shoulder isn't going to do it."

"Don't go and start scaring me, Eleanor," Brittany said.

"I'm not," she looked at her watch. "Better hurry and get a cab. Call me in twenty minutes. If you don't, I'm sending backup."

She nodded and watched Eleanor go up the stairs and hurried Pierre for a cab.

* * *

The cab stopped in the middle of a large bridge. Brittany could see the water far below. "Okay, Ms. We're here."

Brittany paid him and got out of the cab. On the other side of the street was a man looking into the water over the bridges ledge. It was a dark night but street lamps lit up the bridge and she could see his face. He looked upset.

Brittany took in a deep breath. _Okay, Brittany, you got to be brave and professional, _she thought.

She walked over to him and he looked right at her. "I need your help," he said right away.

Brittany examined him. He didn't look like a killer. He had dark brown hair and was wearing jean and a dark gray jacket. He also had pleading eyes.

She cleared her throat. "You'll have to turn yourself over to the police."

"I'm an American, just like you are."

Brittany rolled her eyes at the difficult stranger. "I'll notify the consul. You'll have legal counseling and contact with your family," she told him matter-of-factly.

"I'm already too deep," he said. "Someone's trying to frame me!"

She looked at him skeptically. "Why should I believe you?"

"Letters," Jack said. "It all started with the damn letters I received in New Orleans."

"I'm sure the police will take that into account. I can't help you."

"You have to see them," he said. Brittany heard a humming of a motorcycle. "I stashed them into my apartment." Suddenly she saw someone on a black motorcycle and helmet speeding down the bridge. It took her a second to realize what he was holding up.

_A gun!_

She didn't have time to warn Jack before the shooting started. A shot fired at her but she ducked and another shot at Jack. He fell against the side of the bridge, hanging over the edge.

Without even thinking, she swung her laptop case at the gunman's hand as he came close. The gun fell to the ground and he went past them a little before stopping.

Brittany grabbed the gun and pointed it at him and fired. It missed and he raced off down the bridge. She turned just in time to see Jack. "Wait, Jack!" Too late! Jack's limp body fell over the edge of the bridge.

* * *

**Bum Bum Bum Buuuum!**

**Haha, so you thought he was the killer? He still could be. **

**And who was on the motorcycle? **

**Find out soon on the next chapter!**


	4. Being sneaky

**Haha, I'm glad I could update this today!**

**I swear, whenever I want to do something it's like everyone wants me for something!**

**Okay, well anyway I hope you like this chapter. And Don't forget to review!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**(Paris 16, 20:11 hrs.)**

Brittany sat in the Inspector's office, beyond completely frustrated. She was angry. Not only had she been and the French police station since the night before when Jack was shot, she hadn't been able to reach Eleanor.

_I should've known she had left again, _she thought. _I mean, why else would she turn down a chance to talk to a suspect?_

Just then, the Inspector came walking in, very angry. He sat down on the other side of his desk. "Thanks to you, a murder suspect has been killed!"

"I didn't…" but he cut her off.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have no authority to conduct any investigation here in Paris?"

She crossed her arms in front of her. "If you mean Jack Dupree, we only talked."

"I don't care," he said angrily. "The problem is that you saw him at all!"

She wasn't going to give to his yelling. "He asked me to meet him."

He let out an annoyed sighed. "And why did you bring your gun?"

"I already told you, it wasn't my gun! The assailant dropped it."

"I won't have cowboys shooting each other in my streets. Do you understand?"

"I understand. You prefer to shoot yourselves on your own," she shot back.

"I am but one of many Inspectors here in Paris," he said. "But I assure you in this case the brass is behind _me _100%."

"Congratulations, you're up for a promotion," she said sarcastically, turning away.

Inspector Pety stood up. "For your own good, I think it's best you go to your hotel and pack your things." Brittany dropped her mouth open and he walked to the door. "Then an officer will pick you up and take you to the airport. And just so you know," he added. "All the evidence stays here."

* * *

**(April 16, 20:34 hrs.)**

When they arrived at the hotel, Brittany got out of the cab and so did the officer. It happened to be the same one from the other crime scenes.

"If we're going to make it to the airport, you're going to have to start packing now." He said.

She nodded and walked onto the hotel. In a strange way, she was ready to leave the giant pain of the investigation behind her and just go home.

She walked up to the reception desk and greeted Pierre. "There was a man here looking for you," he told her. "He name was Carnot, Louis Carnot, he seemed like he really needed to see you."

"Well if it's so important, it can wait," she said. She went upstairs and into her room. And just like she had figured, no Eleanor.

_Good, _she thought. _I'm done her anyway._

Brittany quickly changed into jeans and a dark sweater. Then, she noticed a letter sitting where her laptop should've been, but that was ruined.

It was Eleanor's handwriting. Her first She took a deep breath and decided not to rip it up, no matter how angry she was. She started to read what it said

_Dear Brittany_

_I am so sorry about leaving you alone again like this._

_You see, another case kind of popped up and it's urgent that I do something about it. That's why I decided to leave you to the Puppeteer case. I know I probably should have just told you but things have been pretty hectic…_

_Listen, I understand if you're angry but you have to stop him! He'll keep killing and won't stop unless you do something about it._

_You probably think Jack's the culprit but I don't think so. There's a lot more to this than we see. But I think you'll be able to solve this. I know you can do it!_

_I promise I'll make it up to you later, but for now, you're in charge of the case. Solving it should be your only priority._

_This might be scary and dangerous but you shouldn't worry. Just think carefully about where to go next. It'll come to you. And I'll be keeping an eye on you every now and then, don't worry. If you need help, I'll send back-up._

_I also told Nick about your situation, he might meet up with you later. But do your best. Everyone out there is counting on you. Especially the next victims, you're their only hope! Please, Brit, this is your chance. You've never been the one to just give up, so don't start now._

_Oh, and one more thing-_

_DON'T LEAVE PARIS! NO MATTER WHAT. HE STILL MIGHT BE THERE!_

Brittany put down the letter and sighed. "She's right," she said to herself. "If I give up now, more people will be dead. I can't let that happen."

Determination surged through her. She knew she had to catch him. She just had to start at the beginning. Suddenly she remembered what Jack had said about the letters in his apartment. _That's where I'll start, _she thought. _But first I'll have to get rid of the officer and get out of here._

She grabbed her camera and purse, and left the room, trying to think of a way to escape. *

Downstairs, she walked up to the reception desk once again. "Pierre, did you ever get my car?"

He nodded. "Here are the keys, Ms. Miller." She took the keys and thanked him. She walked out of the hotel. The officer was still standing beside the car. Quickly, she thought of a way to get rid him.

She walked up to him. "I'm causing you so much trouble," she said dramatically, with her hand on her forehead. "Your colleagues are done with dinner and your still here stuck in uniform."

"It's not your fault," he said. "It's my job."

She shook her head, sadly. "You know what, I've caused you too much trouble."

"I'll find my way to the airport," she said, smiling sweetly at him. "You just go home."

"I don't know," he said, unsure of whether to except her offer. "My orders were to make sure you got on the plane."

She dropped her mouth open, pretending to be shocked. "What? You don't trust me?"

"That's not it. An order in an order," he said. "You miss that plane and they'll cut my bonus."

_This guy isn't going to let up. _"Listen, I arranged to drop off my car at the airport. Why don't you just drive behind me?"

He nodded. "Okay, but stay close."

"Don't worry, you'll be able to see me. I'll leave first then you can pass me." She waved and went back inside. Now she had to figure out what to do. She couldn't just speed away once they we're on the road. He'd call for back up then she'd be in even bigger trouble.

She walked for a minute, thinking hard. Brittany had to find a way to lose him, soon as she left. But how? She could stop up his car with the little she had learned about cars but he was standing right there. She'd never be able to get past him and work on his car.

She looked up and noticed the backdoor of the hotel by the stairs. _I wonder where it leads? _She thought.

She went to the front desk and asked Pierre. "It's the back door, for staff only."

"Could I use it?"

"I can assure you it is much easier to use the front entrance," he told her.

She nodded. She had to find a way to use it but she still wasn't sure what to do. The door was locked and the officer was waiting for her. Time was running out.

She left the building and walked up to the officer, prepared to stall him. "I know I'm causing you trouble, so why don't I get you some coffee and croissant?"

"Hmm, I'm on duty."

"So?" she said. "You shouldn't sit here starving to death waiting for me."

"Okay fine," he said. "But just a quick bite, we can't miss that plane."

She nodded and turned. To her left she saw a short fence. On the other side of it was a door. _That must be where the back door leads. _She could sneak around the back of the car then get across the street quick enough and take off, but the officer would still see her.

She sighed. Everything seemed to lead to a dead end. If only she could stall his car… Then a sudden thought struck her.

_The exhaust pipe!_

Smiling smugly, she walked inside and up to Pierre. "I'm curious about the cuisine of your cooking. Maybe I could take a look in the back?"

"Why? Do you think there is something wrong with our cooking?"

She shook her head. "No, not at all."

"I assure you all of our food is cooked by the finest, with only the best ingredients. The rest remains a secret."

Brittany smiled. "Then could you secretly prepare me some coffee and a croissant?"

"Finally, you eat something!" He went to the back.

Quickly, she walked over to the back door. She looked at the lock and guessed she'd need the key. Back at the reception desk, she saw a box on the wall skightly opened. She couldn't go around the counter or then he might see her from the open kitchen, so she had to find another way.

She went to the right side of the desk and reached for the key. She was too short to reach that far.

Brittany stepped back around the desk. She needed something to reach the key. Then, she noticed the rack on the other side of the staircase. Inside it were glass bottles and antique plates. When she opened it, a cork fell to the floor.

She picked it up and looked inside the case. Inside was designer handkerchief, made specifically for the hotel. She wrapped it over the cork and put it. _I can use this for the exhaust pipe._

She closed the rack but the door didn't close right. When she opened it again, she noticed the hook on it. She took the hook off. _If I could stick this on something, I could get that key._

"Your coffee will be ready soon Mademoiselle," Pierre called.

Brittany new she had to hurry. She looked around the lobby. There was a bamboo plant up against the wall. She looked at it and saw a small, loose bamboo stick. She pulled it out and was able to put the hook on it.

She went to the right side of the reception desk, and using the bamboo stick and hook she was able to pull the key off.

She stuffed it in her pocket and dropped the bamboo stick just as Pierre walked back in. He had the coffee and croissant in his hand.

"Here you go," he said.

Thank you," she took it.

"Bon apatite!" Just then a phone started ringing. "I'm sorry, that is the phone in the back ringing. I have to get that." He walked back into the kitchen.

"That works for me," she mumbled as she brought the coffee out to the officer. "Here you go, nice and fresh."

"You didn't have to," he insisted.

"Well since I already brought it over, you don't want to waste it." She handed it to him and he walked away from the car to a few steps to eat it.

Brittany went back inside and used the back door. She could see the officer eating near one of the lights. She ducked down behind the small fence and tip toed to the car. There was a gap between the end of the fence and the police car. She careful scurried to behind the car.

She pulled the cork out of her pocket and put it in the exhaust pipe along with the handkerchief. She quickly went back inside without the officer seeing her.

She sighed and leaned against the door when she got back inside. ""Okay Brittany," she said to herself. "That's over. All you have to do is get out of here."

Composing herself. She went back out the front door. The officer was done eating.

"I finished packing," she said.

"So we can go?"

She nodded. Brittany walked over to her rental car and put the keys into the ignition. She looked back at the officer starting his car. He nodded and she pulled off. He attempted to pull of after her, but unknown why to him, his car stalled.

Brittany kept driving, smiling to herself. She had made it away from him, hopefully for good. She looked at the GPS. Her next destination was Jack's apartment.

* * *

**Brittany has gotten away and now is headed to Jack's apartment to see what's up with the letters.**

**Is everything going okay? Will she really be able to find the killer?**

**Review and keep reading to find out!**


	5. Letters Enclosed

**Authors' note-**

**Welcome to my lair of crazy scary stuff!**

**Well, kind of I guess. I wanted to update this two days ago but of course I was put into another spiral of crazy shit to do.**

**There are exams and last minute projects and computer problems. People also think I'm Aladdin's genie and that I can solve their problems somehow or like I have time to help them with really trivial stuff.**

**I'd say no but I'm just too nice…**

**There are so many stories I've been meaning to update but not only do I not have time, I wrote chapters for my other stories to but my hardrive erased them all.**

**So yeah, being the completely lazy, procrastinate person I am, I haven't taken the time to rewrite them.**

**I just wanted to tell you why this have been slow and I appreciate ALL my reviewers. Thanks a bunch!**

**Okay, I'm done with the whole babbly crap. Enjoy the story!**

* * *

**(Paris, 16, 22:21 hrs.)**

Brittany stepped out of the car outside of the Montmatre. Taking a deep breath, she went on inside. She went up to number thirteen, Jack's apartment. Police tape was around it and the door was locked.

_I should've known it wasn't going to be that easy. _Brittany went downstairs one floor, where the witness stayed. The was a window on the wall facing opposite of the stairs. It opened easily.

Looking out, she saw that there was a thin ledge outide. Below it was a deep drop. She gulped. She thought about finding a way to pick the lock but that would arouse to much suspicion. His room was one more floor up. Maybe she could get up there.

Trying not to look down, she opened the window and stepped out back first. She stepped down on the old ledge carefully. Once she was completely out, she attempted to close the window. There was a loud crack under her feet.

She let out a scream as the bricks gave away. She grabbed on to the windowsill just in time. She was breathing heavily, trying to hold on. Brittany swung her feet up and was able to get her feet on more stable rock.

She held on to the roof and tried to take deep breaths and tried not to look down. But it was too late. She felt dizzy and terrified.

Brittany stood straight up. _Calm down Brittany, you have to do this, _she thought. She looked back at the window. There was no way she was getting back inside that way. The only way she could get off the roof was go through Jack's apartment. That, or down.

Brittany laid her back against the side and started to walk, taking slow, careful steps. She didn't plan on going down.

She walked al; the way to the other end. There was a wire hanging down. Luckily, it was protected with a covering. She grabbed it and climbed up to the next floor.

She stayed up close to the side and went to the second window. She looked inside. It was definitely Jack's apartment. The window was right above his desk.

Brittany tried pushing it open but the lock was on it. She stood back up carefully. She needed to find something to unlock it or break the lock.

She carefully walked to the right side of the roof. There was an antenna at the top of what seemed to be a step ladder ledge. Unfortunately, the first couple of metal steps were missing and it was too dangerous to try and climb it without them.

There were wooden boards hanging off what seemed to be a window in the middle of repair. She picked them up and looked at the metal step up. The first two were missing, but bars still stuck out from the holes. Brittany laid the two boards on top. Hopefully it would hold her.

Trying not to look down again, she climbed it up to the old wire antenna. There was an aluminum antenna wire hanging from it. She took two steps down and the last board broke. Luckily, she was still hanging on and made it down.

Brittany made it back to Jack's window. She bent the wire and easily it unlocked the window. She was relieved when she finally made it inside.

She smiled to herself. _What an adrenaline rush!_

She looked to her left and saw a table with random art and crafts. To her right, was another window, where there was a step up that led to a bedroom. Against that same wall was the tv with the painting above it.

It looked exactly the same as before, just without the body. The strings even still hung from the wall. She turned back toward the desk. Next to it was a large old fashioned wardrobe closet.

She started looking at his desk. On top, there were pictures and small paper scraps along with a couple of documents, pens, pencils and books. There was also a map, which looked quite.

"That's strange," she mumbled. It was a map that seemed to be Eurasia, a map of the world when some of its continents were one. On the bottom right was a compass, but the directions were filled in with random colors. Like North was orange and Northwest was blue. The rest of the map was black and white. Someone had to of added them.

She looked down at the drawer that was half open. There was a light on her key and she used it to look in. There was nothing really interesting in there until she saw a hole in the bottom. She took a screwdriver from the drawer and pried it open. There was a little slip of paper and an Allen wrench inside.

The only thing on the paper was the numbers 5, 2, 3, 1, 4 all in different colors. Definitely not the letters he was talking about.

Brittany looked around the apartment for something that would go with this. She saw something in between the two windows on the wall. There were four hooks and the fifth seemed to be missing. She put the Allen wrench in and it fit perfectly.

_Well, one part of it's solved, _she thought. Her mind went back to the map. _If I remember correctly… _She put in what she remembered of the color code. It didn't work and the hooks recent themselves.

She tried it two more times, and after being frustrated, she finally was able to get the hooks right. A secret door seemed to open up right under the hooks. She opened it completely.

"Yes," she said aloud. There were letters on top of an old safe keep box that had a notebook tied to it. She picked up the letter first. The return address said it was from someone named Mark Twain. Then she took the notebook and box and untied them.

She pulled out the notebook and started to read sections of it it:

_5/14/2009-"That was a strange incident with the box…_

_5/16/2009-I finally managed to open it. I couldn't have done it without the key. Inside, there are documents written in French. Unfortunately, most of them are very damaged. I found an odd metal object in an inside compartment. I have no idea what it could be used for._

_5/19/2009-I ordered one of the better preserved pages to be translated. According to it, my ancestor changed his name immediately after he arrived in New Orleans. His real name was Gérard Louis de Bougainville. He came to France around 1793._

_6/14/2009-I decided to explore my roots. Today I'm leaving for France. I've been putting this trip off, but I think it's for the best… _

_30 July 2009- Paris is truly beautiful at this time of year, especially since I found an apartment in the heart of the city. While cleaning, I found some sort of ancient hidden secret compartment in the spiral light._

_August 2, 2009-My first search through the archives didn't yield anything. I feel like someone's throwing obstacles under my feet…_

_August 4, 2009- Someone broke into my apartment. Luckily the documents were well hidden. Nothing went missing. I reported it to the police but they didn't seem to care very much…_

She stopped reading. This didn't sound like a killer. What about the box and where was the key to open it? What did these letters from Mark Twain have to do with all of this?

She thought about the break in. Was someone stalking Jack? Did it have something to do with that guy on the motorcycle shooting at them?

There were so many questions that still had to be answered. She was still a long ways from finding the killer, but what would she do now. Look for Mark Twain? Find the key to the box? What did this have to do with the Puppeteer and who was the next victim.

_I have to sort this all out, _she thought. _I have to get the big picture here… _

Suddenly, the front door started to rattle. "Oh crap," she whispered dreadfully. Someone was coming in!

She stuffed away the notes and looked for a place to hide. The first place she thought of was the wardrobe and jumped in. The door opened.

A tall man with a gun in his hand walked in. He had light colored hair and was wearing a large black overcoat and a flashlight in his other hand. Brittany eyes were set on the gun.

He started rifling through the apartment. Turning over chairs and looking into the bedroom. She knew she didn't have much time before he came to the wardrobe. She had to do something, and quick.

_I'll have to run out, _she thought. _He won't have time to react. _She knew it was risky but she had to try. She would head straight toward the door and not look back.

He walked to the desk the in front of the wardrobe. Suddenly, Brittany's cellphone buzzed.

He flashed the light into the crack of the wardrobe. She leapt out and he fired his gun, missing. She charged into him, knocking against the table.

She headed for the door as he shot at her. She ducked and raced down the stairs and out the apartment building. Without looking back, Brittany jumped into the car and sped down the road a mile. When she thought she was far enough away, Brittany parked and laid back against her seat, breathing hard.

"That was a close one," she said to herself. She wondered who he was and why he had broken in to Jack's apartment. He certainly wasn't the police.

She sighed. This was the second time she had been shot at in two nights and the third time she was almost killed. This was getting more and more dangerous as she went and didn't feel any closer to the killer.

So far, all she figured out was that she was beyond confused, but too deep to turn back now.

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Please review!**

**So, who was that man and whose Mark Twain? What's in the mysterious box?**

**This and more in the next chapter!**

**(I also wanted to say that i'm posting another part to the story called 'The Seacliff Tragedy' that shows what's going on while Brittany's chasing the Puppeteer. I'll put it up soon and will appreciate it if you read it)**

**Thanks! Luv ya!**


	6. The Moulin Rouge

**Hello! I hope everyone had a good week.**

**So far, I'm pretty much annoyed to my wits end! But I won't bother you with my problems no longer!**

**Okay, sorry I didn't put the story up yesterday like I planned but this is the earliest I could. **

**I also started a forum and I would love it if you visited. Or, if you want, ask me and I'll make you a moderator cause I'll probably only check it like, once every two or three months.**

**So, enjoy the story!**

* * *

**(Paris 16, 22:48)**

Halfway down the road, Brittany decided to dial back the person who had called her cellphone. She didn't know whether it was to give them a piece of her mind or because she was still pretty jittery. She had been shot at twice in the last 48 hours and all the dead bodies and the psycho killer on the loose weren't helping matters.

The phone rang three times before she got an answer. "Hello?"

"Jen, is that you?"

"Brittany! I called you and Eleanor and neither of you guys picked up. I was starting to get worried. I haven't heard from either you in three days!"

"We're on a case. And for Eleanor," she said, with the slightest bit of tension in her voice, "she doesn't pick up her cellphone for me either. I don't know why she bothers paying the bill on it."

Brittany took a sharp turn to the right to avoid a car backing up. "Can anyone drive here?"

Jeanette giggled. "I guess it's no different from here."

"Well it's not like I've gotten any time to enjoy my time here. I've been working nonstop since yesterday and I've been shot at twice!" She started explaining what had happened a few moments ago.

Her sister gasped. "I'm sorry, Brittany. I didn't know you were working or anything."

"It's not your fault. I should've put it on silent anyway."

"Well, what's the case that you're on," she asked excitedly. "Tell me everything."

"You know I can't. It's confidential."

"You can at least tell me who. I mean, it's not confidential it's been through the press already," she probed.

"Well, he's a notorious serial killer and his name starts with a 'P'."

Jeanette paused for a minute. "…Wait, are you talking about the Puppeteer?"

"You got me."

She screamed on the other and Brittany had to pull the phone from her ear. "Are you CRAZY!" There was a shuffling noise. "Why would Eleanor leave you alone to catch that psycho? You're going to be killed!"

Brittany hit a pothole hole causing her head to bump the side window. "If anything's going to kill me, it's going to be driving on these roads."

"I'm being completely serious. Just thinking about it gives me the chills," she said. "I can't stand the thought of you there alone. I'm coming down there."

"No," Brittany said firmly. "I don't want you in any danger. And besides," she said, "I will be home as soon as possible."

She heard Jeanette sigh on the other end. "Okay, Brittany. But be careful."

"I'll try," she said. "Was there another reason you called me earlier?"

There was a long moment of pause on the other end. "Well, I wanted some advice."

"Really? For what?"

"You see, there's this case that we got this request for an amusement park yesterday and I really want to go. But the others don't think it's safe for me too. I wanted to know if you think I shouldn't go either."

"Listen Jen, when it comes to ghost I definitely wouldn't go," she replied. "But, it's your passion and if it's something you want to do, go for it. You don't see me and Eleanor sitting behind desk after all the protest we got from you guys for wanting to take on this job, now do you?"

She giggled. "I remember that. So yeah, okay, I'm going," she said happily. "And remember, I'm rooting for you and Eleanor."

"Thanks Jen, I'll call you later," she said and hung up. Brittany felt refreshed after talking to her sister. Somehow, Jeanette always found some way to cheer her up. Even if she didn't really know she was doing so.

Brittany stopped her rental car in the front of the hotel. No officers were there so it seemed safe enough. She got out of the car, locking the door. The smell of food from the café made her sort of regretting not eating earlier, but she thought that an empty stomach was better for this kind of job.

She walked into the hotel, feeling that nice cozy feeling come over her. She remembered that she was here to drop off the box. She didn't have the key to it and she wanted to make sure no one got to it.

Walking up to the reception desk, a man in a gray suit and dark blonde hair siting on the seat across from it stood up and stopped her. _Oh no, _she thought. _Is he the police?_

Professionally, he held out his hand. "I am sorry for taking up your precious time," he said in a heavy French accent.

"Yes?" She said skeptically.

"Please, tell me what happened to Jack?" He asked quickly. "I hear he has been arrested?"

She crossed her arms defensively. "Why do you come to me with that question, and not the French police?"

"As an American citizen, you might have a different point of view," he said.

Brittany rolled her eyes. Apparently, everyone in France thought that the Americans were complete softies that would give in to their questions and requests. She wasn't going to let him think that at all.

"That's irrelevant," she said. Brittany needed answers from him and she planned on getting them. "Jack is a friend of yours?"

"I met him in New Orleans. I was on business securing some, construction contracts," he explained. "We worked together well."

"This was in 09?"

"Yes, a few months ago."

Something about his story she wasn't buying. Obviously, he wasn't going to give much about himself away to her. "Is that all you wanted to discuss?"

He shrugged. "I'd like to know if there's any way I could help him."

She shook her head. "I don't think so, but leave your business card just in case."

He nodded and took out his business card to hand to her. "Of course, here you go," he said.

She read the card out loud to. "Louis Carnot, construction entrepreneur."

"What is the basis for the accusations against Jack? Did they find any evidence against him?"

She smiled at him for a second. "They found the body of his mistress in his apartment. That sounds like a pretty strong lead, don't you think?"

"There were letters in his apartment," he said. "Were they ever retrieved?"

"Please ask the police. And why are you so interested in these letters?"

He shrugged. "It was the last think we talked about. I guess it stayed with me."

Brittany was tired of his questions and she herself not getting any answers from this guy. "I'm pressed for time," she said.

"I understand. Thanks for the conversation." Louis left without another word.

She stood there for a second, pondering over their conversation. _I don't trust that guy. His questions about the documents make me wonder. And the whole New Orleans thing? Could it be an accident?_

Returning to what she was doing, Brittany walked up to Pierre at his normal post at the desk. "Do you have a safe in here?

He nodded. "Yes, what did you want to store?"

"This little box," she said, handing him the item she had obtained at Jacks apartments. "It's really valuable and I don't want to risk keeping it in my room."

"Yes, I've noticed it is quite an old and pretty item."

"I guess you can say it's sort of a family heirloom."

"Well, if you're ever interested in antiques, I know someone on the field…"

"Thanks but no thanks," she said. "And I might be needing the box back in a little while."

He nodded. "No problem. Any time you want."

She headed upstairs for a quick change. A few moments afterward, she sat down to think about where she should go next. She remembered her conversation with the inspector The girl who had died was from the Moulin Rouge. Maybe if she went there, she'd find something.

* * *

**(Paris 16, 23:29)**

The building as on the corner of Montmartre. It was dark besides the sign lit up on the top of the building. People stood at the other end of the street waiting for the bus. In a way, she still felt alone.

Brittany took a deep breath and decided that that feeling would just have to go away. She couldn't waste any time just standing around.

She walked up to the entrance. Above the glass doors was the name Feerie. Brittany knew all about this place. She had written a report on it when she was younger. This is where some of the most famous paintings were first created and France's most memorable dancers were here. It was too bad the place was closed.

Brittany walked up to the door and tried it anyway. It wouldn't budge. She left and walked around the corner to the back. It was a dark and dirty ally. She walked up to the double wood doors. There too, were locked.

She sighed and stepped back. On the ground to her right was a large hatch, but there was a padlock on it. _If I could break the padlock I'd be able to get in._

She walked through the ally way and saw an overturned wheelbarrow and a mountain of sawdust. On top was a long iron pipe. She picked up and walked back to the hatch quickly. She slipped the pipe into the padlock and broke it. _At least my gym training paid off._

She tried to pull the hatch open again but it was beyond heavy. She saw there was a rope on the wheel right above it. She rapped the rope over the around the handle and tried to pull on the other end. It was still to heavy. She needed something to weigh it down.

Not wanting to waste time, she went looking for something heavy enough. She saw that on the side of the building was a water conduit box. Opening it, there was a bucket inside under the faucet. The bottom of it was taped, but it seemed usable.

She turned the wheel and filled the bucket. Before she knew it, she had it hooked to the other end of the 'pulley'. She used the bucket to pull open the door and it worked.

Congratulating herself, Brittany went to the front of the hatch and looked in. There were steps leading down to a door. It seemed safe enough.

Making sure to take careful steps down, she started descending the stairs. There was a loud bang as she got to the door. Looking up, she saw that the hatch was closed. She tried to open it but it was too heavy.

"Great," she said sarcastically. "Well, I'm certainly not getting out this way."

She turned and went through the door. The back door, she saw was locked with a key, so she couldn't get out that way. Brittany walked to her right and on the walls were hundreds of colorful clothes and accessories. The door next to them was locked.

Under the stairs to the main stage on the other wall, there was a glass box. Inside was an ax. She couldn't help but think she needed an ax to open it.

She went to the door near the clothes again. She remembered that the still had the keys from Jack's apartment. She pulled them out and tried them on the door. The door unlocked with a loud click.

_Finally, something's going my way. _She walked into the small dressing room. There was a a dressing table with lights on the wall with the door and wigs and other accessories covered the shelves on all the other walls.

She walked to the other end where she saw a drawer under some boas. At the side, there were envelopes. There were from Mark Twain. Brittany gaped. There had to of been six letters in her hand. Why had he sent so many letters to Jack's girlfriend?

She stood up and looked back at the dressing table. The phone sitting on the end was flashing. There was a new message. She put it on speaker to play the message.

It was a man's voice. "Remember the Deal. He can't be allowed to find out anything. Get him to tell you all he knows and take from him the things he was talking about. Hurry up or I'll stop being nice. Be smart. I know you want to live."

"Oh no," she mumbled. Was this guy Mark Twain? Whoever it was had made a death threat on her life. This had to be connected to her murder. But she had no idea how to prove it.

Next to the phone was a medicine vile. Inside was what seemed to be medicine and something else. She opened it and pulled out a diamond ring and a necklace with a silver crucifix. There was also aspirin inside.

Quickly, she stuffed the items into her bag. She felt as though she needed to leave as soon as possible. On the floor was a mannequin arm. She picked it up and left the room. Brittany used it to break the axe bobs open.

Just as she pulled it open, a light came on from the top of the stairs and she heard voices. It was two males.

"Where is she," the first voice said.

"What's wrong," the second one said. "You don't like night clubs anymore?"

"I saw her go in, she must be hiding somewhere around here." _Oh no, _she thought. _Someone's here looking for me!_

"If you had killed her the first time, you'd now be sitting in front of a TV drinking a beer," his buddy responded.

"It was dark and… I tripped." _So that was him! _She thought to herself. _He can't even admit that I outsmarted him. That jerk!_

"So, you go downstairs, turn _on _the light and shoot her. Just don't fall down this time."

"That's my queue to disappear," she mumbled to her herself.

Brittany walked to the back door. It would take too long to break it down. In the corner there was and extinguisher on a trolley. She had the perfect idea.

Brittany rolled it to about a foot or two away from the door. It was facing the opposite direction. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the axe and brought it down over the valve of the extinguisher, breaking it open.

It made a loud swoosh sound as the air escaped. She took a step back and it took off, straight into the door, busting it open. She smiled and dropped the axe. As she ran at the door, she couldn't help but think she was too smart for them to catch.

Brittany ran around the building at hopped in her car and started to pull off. Mark Twain had something to do with this. And those guys, what did they have to do with the Puppeteer?

The feel of cold steel on the back of her head brought her out of her thoughts. "Keep driving."

* * *

**Well, Brittany's in some trouble now, isnt she? **

**Who's Mark Twain and who's in the car. Why are those two guys nosing around and wanting to kill her. What's the Puppeteer up too?**

**All this and more coming up in the next chapter!**


	7. Detective Talk

**Hey! Sorry for the longass wait everyone, I've been in a rut lately.**

**But don't worry. I'm going to try to through myself into my writing again like before and I'll try to update as many stories as I can as soon as possible.**

**Ha, I almost forgot about the stuff I was writing about.**

**Okay, so anyway here it is chapter 7! Let's see how Brittany charms her way through this one!**

* * *

**(Paris 16 23:42)**

Brittany gulped. She had no idea how to get away from this guy. But one thing was for sure, she had to be brave.

"W-wh-what are you doing i-in my car?" She asked with as much bravery as she could muster.

"Keep your eyes on the road," he commanded pressing the gun against the side of Brittany's face. "What were you doing in the dressing room?"

"You better leave the car," she replied. "Or I'll call the police."

He let out a laugh and pulled the gun back slightly. "Yes, I'm sure Inspector Pety will be glad to hear about the Moulin Rouge break-in."

Brittany looked at him from the rearview mirror. "Do we have mutual friends?"

"As a private detective of France, I think so."

_So he's a detective_, she thought. This was just the lead she needed. It was time to get her answers.

* * *

**(Paris 17, 1:22)**

Brittany had driven them to the hotel she was staying at. She thought since he hadn't shot her and new the Inspector, it was safe enough. He had showed her his badge. He was PD Gangster. _Hmm, interesting last name…_

Once they had reached the room, he sat down in an chair next to the window. It was time to start asking questions. Or, more like demanding answers in her book.

"Tell me about Jack Dupree."

He sat back, seeming bored. "I know what he's been doing for the past couple of weeks," was his blunt answer.

She crossed her arms. "Going around killing people?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh please, you don't actually believe that?"

"That's what the French police think."

He shrugged. "They had no choice. The weekend newspapers get remembered for much longer. They couldn't admit they were helpless."

"Jack is dead, why are you still involved in this?"

He gave a weak smile. "I need to know why my clients keep dying. My reputation is at stake."

She leaned against the bed post. "You're in for a difficult task."

"I know. No one said it was going to be easy."

"You got that right," Brittany mumbled in agreement. She was tired and frustrated and felt like she wasn't getting anywhere. "What was Dupree doing here?"

"Tracing his roots."

"So what's this history like?"

"Dark and Tragic," he said. Gangster sat up, a little more interested in their conversation now. "Picture this: 200 years ago, the chaos of the French Revolution, people are trying to escape…"

"Try starting from the beginning."

"One aristocrat, Jean Jacques Bougainville, signed a deal with Lucas Carnot."

"Which one was his forefather?"

"Bougainville. Lucas was supposed to secure transfer to America for the Bougainville family," he explained. "Unfortunately, something went wrong and almost all of them were caught and killed."

Brittany let out a sigh. "What does any of that have to do with the murders that are happening now?"

"Jack was inspired to investigate his family history because of these letters he got from a Marc Twain. So he came here to meet him."

"Did he?" She asked.

"Nope."

"Jack said he was being framed."

"Yeah, strange things started happening to him. Like, someone broke into his apartment searching for something."

"I think I might know what they were looking for," Brittany said thinking. So many of her leads ended right back at the same spot, Marc Twain."

"Do you have it?" The detective asked.

"What?" She said, snapping back from her thoughts.

"Don't play dumb. I know you have the box with the letters, so let's see it."

"Why are you so interested in the letters?"

He sighed. "Jack's dead, and the box is now the only source of information in this case."

"The police consider the case closed."

He gave her a hard look. "Do you really think this concludes the killing spree?"

Brittany sighed. She knew the answer to that question. "I wish it was. Really."

"Will you show me the box now?"

Brittany nodded and stood up. "Okay, let me go get it."**

Brittany had gotten the box from Pierre and brought it back upstairs. "What's inside?"

"I haven't opened it yet."

"Well I hope you know how, it's shut tight"

Brittany looked closely at the lock. It looked vaguely familiar. Where had she seen that shape before…

Then suddenly, she remembered the items from the medicine bottle. Brittany reached into her pocket and pulled put the contents. There was the aspirin, the diamond ring and the crucifix necklace.

Stuffing the rest into her pocket, she picked out the crucifix and examined it for a moment. The side of it split and the back part of it came off. It was a key!

"I think I just found the key," she said and turned it in the lock. She was relieved to here the click and the lid opened. "It looks like there is just a diary and some scraps inside." She told him.

They both look closely at the pieces. "The pattern…" The Detective said. "It's like a map."

Brittany nodded. "Okay, let's try to put it together." Brittany spread the pieces down and examined them closely. "You know, I'm still not certain if I can trust you."

"Why is that, Miller?"

She didn't look up and stayed focused on the puzzle. "For all I know, you could be working with the enemy."

"Hmm, and who exactly is the enemy?"

Brittany started putting the pieces together with the usual trial and error method. "Since I left the Moulin Rouge, I've been thinking of an answering machine message I heard in the dressing room."

"About?"

"It was a man. He threatened her for the letters." The puzzle was starting to come together, slowly, but it was. "Now that I think about it a little more, that was Louis Carnot's voice. I wasn't sure at first but now… Now I am."

"Why does he want the letters so bad?"

"I'm not sure yet but he wants them really bad," she replied. "When he came the hotel to see me, he acted sincere and business-like. He wanted it to seem like he wanted to help Jack but it was obvious he wanted those letters. Over the machine, he sounded so menacing. I guess that's why I didn't recognize his voice right away."

"You know what, Miller? You're pretty sharp. You've almost got the whole case solved in my mind."

"I don't know about the case but I'm almost done with this map," she said. It seemed to be more like a large corner off a map. The only piece that was missing was a piece in the middle.

"Looking for something?" The detective teased. She looked up and saw him waving a small piece of the map in his hands. She took it from him and put it with the rest. It seemed like a century old or more. Quickly, she taped it together.

"Here look," she said. "Do you really think it's a part of a map?"

"It does look like a piece of map. Or maybe it's a plan?"

"This has to be connected to the murders," she said excitedly. "I can feel it."

He thought for a minute. "Maybe it's a clue where to meet or hide?"

She examined every part of the map. "There's a sketch of a castle next to the water… Is that a port to a route to America?"

He sighed. "The parts you have put together make up only a fraction of a map. As long as we don't get to see the rest of it, we can only guess."

He was right. It doesn't make sense with at the rest of the map and she was out of ideas. _Where should we look for the rest…?_

"What do you think of the letter?" Brittany asked him.

"This name, Marc Twain…"

"Who is he anyway?"

"He's a very mysterious man. And he's everywhere."

"All I know is that he's sending letters to Jack and some had been sent to his girlfriend too."

"I also got something from him. A few strange jobs."

She blinked. "Really? You got letters from this guy. What did he want?"

He wanted me to find an heir of one person; Sophie Sourian was her name I think."

This made Brittany think. Sourian… Marc Twain… Twain… Such a familiar name… Suddenly, she remembered. "That's it! Now I remember. Marc Twain was on the registry at the Ballet rehearsal room!"

"On what date?"

"The day of the danseuse's death," she said. _Why didn't I remember sooner?_

""That's no coincidence," he replied.

Maybe this was it. Maybe she had finally caught up to this psycho. "I think we should pay Marc Twain a little visit."

"We don't have enough proof though."

"So, we can't sit around and wait for him to kill somebody else! Youa French Detective, talk to the Inspector…"

"The Inspector and I aren't on the best terms. If I called him it wouldn't go so well for us."

"Same for me," she admitted. "But I'm not giving up and I'm not going to let the Inspector keep me from doing my job. And you shouldn't either."

He nodded and stood up. "Your right. I think it's time we visit our mysterious letter writer and see what's up."

Brittany smiled. "I'll drive."

* * *

**Yes! Done, and it didn't take me long either. **

**Okay so, Finally, we'll get to meet our mysterious friend Marc Twain and the Bougainville history is revealed.**

**But there's more to history and the present than we know and it's connected to the murders somehow, right?**

**All this and more in the next chapter!**


	8. The Murderer's Hideout

**Yeah, I'm updating.**

**I missed last week's update since I usually update this story at least once a week. Sorry!**

**But I need to focus on my school and stuff and all these Ap classes apparently I have to take. But, writing is like my stress reliever so I need to find time for it too.**

**Anyway, thanks to all my readers! Enjoy and Review!**

* * *

**(Paris, 17 4:10)**

Eventually, Brittany and the detective found Marc Twain's address. It was a nice apartment building, each apartment door going up the stairs from the outside. His apartment was at the top stairs.

Quietly, they both made their way to the top and the detective started picking the lock. A minute later, he opened the door.

"Do you pick locks often?" She asked.

He shrugged. "It comes with the job description." Slowly, he opened the door, cautious not to make noise.

They walked in, and were surprised at what the saw. Across the sitting room, the wall was coated with pictures of people. Large cursive writing was behind it.

"I can't believe this," she said, getting closer to examine the pictures.

The detective let out a loud whistle. "So what do you make of this?"

"It's… A murderer's hideout," she responded. "It's like, he laid it all out for us."

And it was. Pictures and plans of their murders. Brittany recognized all these people so far as victims. Before their death, and pictures of them hanging from the strings the murderer had positioned them in. They were also pictures of her and the detective hanging on the wall. So all this time, it had been Marc Twain.

"We better analyze this carefully," he said.

Brittany thought over that psychology report over the killer. "He does organized killings over some kind of obsession."

"It makes him perform that bloody ritual again and again."

"The dolls… They're the key," she said. _But, something just doesn't fit. Why Twain?_

"They're old, aren't they?"

"They're just stylized this way. They must be very important to the killer," she said.

"What message is he trying to convey through them?"

"If you think about it… These dolls… They're like witnesses!"

"He was watching the crime scenes carefully," he started.

"…thus mastering the control," she finished.

"We need to take pictures of this. Some of these might be potential victims."

Brittany pulled out her camera. "How do we track them down?"

He shook his head. "I hate to say it, but I gave him one victim on a plate," he said. He started to explain. "The aquarium from the Azurra in the Pyrenees. He asked me to track someone down."

"When did you give him the info?" She asked urgently.

"Yesterday."

"So, I need to go there right away," she said. "Will you come with me?"

"If the police catch Twain, I won't," he replied casually. "If they do there's no point."

"But we need to be prepared for the worst case scenario. He could be here at any minute."

"Since we aren't here legally," he started. "Let's go and carefully consider our next move."

She nodded. "Okay, just let me look around for a bit." He nodded and stared hard and the pictures. Brittany stepped back and took a picture of the board.

Her foot almost slipped on something hard under her. She looked down and saw glass on the floor. She looked over above the fire[lace and saw a smashed window. _Just like the ballet rehearsal room, _she thought.

She got closer to the board and started taking pictures. Making mental notes of the hard work the killer put into the board. Pictures, news scraps, notes etc. It was so organized, so freaky.

Brittany turned and started looking at the other end of the apartment. The floors and kitchenette were a complete mess. There was a large desk up against the wall. When she looked at the items on the desk, she quickly took a picture before touching anything.

She tucked her camera away and started looking at the photos on the desk. There were pictures of her at every place in France she had visited. _I knew someone was watching me,_ she thought, going through the photos. This was also obviously the killer's work desk. There were strings and needles scattered all over. It looked as though he just finished one.

She shivered when she saw the hooks. Brittany noticed the coffee mug in the corner. She pulled out a piece of the fingerprint foil and picked up a fingerprint. She tucked the evidence away and looked around, making sure not to miss anything.

On the wall next to the board, the paint seemed… off. When she took a closer look, creases were the frame of a door. Was there another room?

A small dresser sat in front of it. She looked inside and saw a photo I.D. of Marc Twain. He didn't look like a serial killer, but she tucked it away safely in her pocket. Brittany rolled the dresser aside and knocked her fist against the wall and realized it was hollow on the other end. She'd need something to break it down. Someone had boarded it up tight with plaster. Obviously, there must be something worth hiding behind it.

"What are you doing?" The detective asked.

"Sshhh! Keep taking notes of the board. I want to check something out."

By the kitchen, on the floor, there was an unbolted monkey wrench. She picked it up and started to tear at the plaster.

"What are you doing?"

"Hey! If you don't want to be a part of this, stay out of my way," she said. "I have a murderer to catch." The detective sighed and let her finish.

A few moments later, under the plaster, was a door. Moving it all out of the way she turned the knob. "Stay here," she said.

When Brittany walked in, she thought it looked like a normal large closet storage room. A normal room with close hung up in an open closet, sheets and some random stuff lying around and a giant soda box cooler to her left.

"It's clear!" She yelled back without getting a response.

She was a little surprised to see some blood on a glass mirror on one side. The only other thing really off was an overturned chair and the fact that the cooler was plugged in.

"Now why would a boarded up room have a running cooler inside?"

Brittany shrugged and guessed that he was too busy murdering to really care about a cooler. _I wonder if there is anything to drink in there._

She knew it was unprofessional to check but why not? As far as she was concerned this was a crime scene, making all this property of the police. And she was really thirsty.

Brittany leaned down and lifted up the cooler…

And screamed.


	9. From Flames to Spain

**Hey! I wanted to put this chapter up sooner so I could keep the whole, OMG affect to it. Please don't forget to review.**

**And just another note, I'll update my other stories soon, promise. Rewriting the ones I already wrote before my hard drive erased them has been a real pain.**

**Thanks again for all my reviewers and readers!**

* * *

**(Paris 17, 4:25)**

Brittany fell backward gasping for air. She had been so shocked by the scene before her, she had forgotten to breath. Her mind was racing due to the shock. She couldn't take her eyes off of what stared blankly back at her.

A person.

There, sitting in the cooler, was a frostbitten man. He stared blankly back at her, his body twisted in an unnatural angle to fit into the cooler. His eyes opened but frosted over, just staring at her.

Brittany backed up slightly, grabbing up on the rack of the wardrobe to help hold her up. When she started thinking a little clearly, she realized who was staring back at her, which was what shocked her even more.

Marc Twain.

It was a little unbelievable. After all, wasn't he the one they had been chasing. He was the one sending Jack and his mistress all those letters, right? This was his apartment covered in evidence and leads, correct?

But it couldn't have been him. This room is boarded up. And it's obvious this guy has been in the cooler for a quite some time. It couldn't have possibly been him.

Then who was it? Suddenly, her shock and surprise turned to confusion, disappointment, and slight annoyance. When she had finally thought she had caught their man, this happens. She finds the body of the suspect, long since dead, and no sign of where the actual killer is.

Except, there was one lead to where he might be headed. The Azzara in the Pyrenees. The detective had said that is where the killer could be heading. IF they didn't hurry, she'd be discovering another dead body.

Gulping, Brittany turned and ran back to the door into the main room. All she wanted to do right then was get out from under the stare of Twain.

She flung the door open, and froze.

She was surprised to see the apartment, engulfed in flames. Then she saw the detective. He was on the floor, in a pool of blood.

But her focus wasn't on him. It was on the man standing over him. It was someone in a long, black overcoat, face covered, wearing a dark hat. He saw her, quickly stood up and bolted out the door.

Brittany wanted to race after him, but fire was in her path and was quickly, engulfing the entire apartment. She went back inside the dressing room, cracking the door as to not shut herself in. When she started coughing, she knew she had a limited time to get out before suffocating.

She saw the body, still in the cooler staring at her. She knew she wasn't going to get anywhere with him staring like that. Brittany took the lid and closed it.

Next to the cooler, the bucket of water sat there. It was obvious the killer probably put water over the body to frost it.

She thought about using it to put the fire out, but it was not enough.

But hanging off the bed was a large blanket. Suddenly she had an idea. Thinking quickly, she grabbed the large quilt and started wetting it with the water in the bucket. When it was soaked enough, she draped over her and went to the door.

She held her breath, not wanting to breath in any smoke, and started off through the apartment, carefully and quickly.

Once she was at the door, she dropped the blanket and left. She gulped in a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air.

Just then, a neighbor from the downstairs apartment ran up. She was wearing a bathrobe and a little short. "What's wrong?" She asked. "I heard a woman scream."

_Thank goodness she speaks English. _"Please, call the police. There's a fire going on and people in there!"

She gasped. "Are they okay?"

"It's too late for them but hurry before the fire spreads," Brittany said. With those last words, she ran down the stairs and out of the apartment complex. Soon, she was in her car and quickly drove off. The last place she wanted to be was there when the police showed up.

Angry, she stopped for a second down the street. She was angry at the fact that the Puppeteer had outsmarted her again. How can she be so close but so far from catching him every time?

She couldn't sit there and wonder. She had to get to the next victim before it was to late. She quickly put in the address she had gotten from the detective.

Azzara was on the edges of Spain. Probably a little more than an eight our drive from here, and she didn't dare think about the traffic.

But no matter what she absolutely had the get there before it was too late. She refused to be late one more time to a crime scene to warn another person. This time she was going to make sure to stop this death from happening.

* * *

**(Spain, April 18, 17:10)**

Brittany stood outside at Paul's Mecarinos, waiting for the man to finish inspecting her car. She was drinking some coffee she had picked up on the way to keep her awake.

The mechanics shop was old looking and small. It looked more like a gray old garage filled with car supplies. Since it was small, her car was being checked, right outside the place.

Paul was checking under the hood of her car when she coughed. Black smoke was coming from inside. "That's an awful lot of smoke," she said.

"No wonder," he said, looking up. "It needs to get rid of the heat somehow."

"Nothing serious," she said with a little hope.

"As long as the vehicle isn't on fire, there's no reason to panic senorita."

"How long will the repairs take," she asked.

He closed the hood, and leaned down on it. "Well if it was a good car…"

"I know. It wouldn't have broken in the first place," she exasperated.

"What I mean is, if it was a good Spanish car, then I'd have the parts for it right here," Paul finished.

"Oh, so you say. What happened anyway."

He shrugged. "Not sure, but it seems like your cooler may have broke down."

She shook her head. "What a piece of trash they had for rental!"

"I'm surprised you got this far."

Brittany handed him the keys. "This town seems empty," she said.

"Did you travel far?" Paul asked.

"Yeah, from Paris," she replied.

"So many miles to end up in such a craphole," he said.

"I deal in old books."

Paul nodded. "Why didn't you just say you were looking for the antiquarian. It's a short walk from here. Everything is close by."

"Well, then I guess I'll take a look around. I'll be back soon."

"No need to rush," he said. "You might also want to take a look at the old ruins."

"You mean like that old castle on the hill," she said, pointing to it. It was large and she had passed it on the outskirts of town. It looked that it had once been a gorgeous attraction.

He smiled. "No, I meant the people."

She nodded and waved and she headed down the road. The sun was hot and beating down harshly. It was getting pretty hot.

About two minutes later, she was in to what seemed to be the center of the town. It was old, and a fountain sat in the middle, but no people around. It was more like a ghost town than anything.

She saw an old sign over a building that said 'antiquarian'. She quickly ran up to the brass double doors and let herself in.

Inside, she first noticed the desk immediately to her left. There were also stairs that lead into an upstairs apartment about two feet away. The rest was rows and rows of books.

And elderly antique dealer was sitting at the desk. He had greyed hair and wearing glasses writing.

Brittany quickly got his attention. "Mr. Antoine Sourian?"

"That is correct," he said. "And you?"

"My name's Brittany Miller. I'm American."

He nodded. "I have some business contacts in New York. Did they recommend you here?"

"No, this has nothing to do with your business."

'Then would you care to join me for a glass of wine?"

A glass of wine sounded really good at that moment. "Trust me sir, I'd love to but maybe later."

"Fine, then let's get straight to the point," he said. "What is this all about?"

The whole story seemed a little long. Well, actually, it was really long. "Your life's in danger," she said.

He started to laugh. "Well that's quite obvious when you've turned seventy."

"It's not about your age. Someone wants to murder you."

He looked surprised. "Unbelievable. What's going through you young people's minds?"

She sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "Let me explain from the beginning…"

* * *

**Yeah! Done. Okay, so can Brittany convince this guy and save his life? Will the Puppeteer prevail? **

**All this and more in the next chapter. Thanks and review for a quicker update!**


	10. The Antiquarian

**Yeah, most awaited chapter Ever!**

**No, not really, but this is one of my more favorable ones. I really hope you guys like it! And like I said before in my first chapter, I do this story based on a game and I only take credit for putting it in fanfiction form. No copyright intended. **

**And on that note, Fanfiction took off my Seacliff Tragedy story. That was saddening but what could I do? I'll have to put it off though putting it back up.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**(Azzara, Spain 18 April 17:20)**

"Let me see if I have this correct," said the old man. "You work for the American government and there's a murderer from your country, who's started killing people across Paris, and now he's coming here looking for me?"

She nodded. "Yes, that's just about it."

"Is this some kind of candid camera TV show?"

"No sir, the American and French police are both investigating it," she said.

"Well what does it have to do with me?"

_I hate to have to tell him this, _she thought. "The murder… well, chose you as his next victim."

He sighed. "Me? Why?"

"I have no clue," Brittany said. "Do you know someone named Marc Twain?"

Mr. Sourian shook his head. "I don't recall. Who is he?"

"The murderer pretends to be him."

"I don't understand any of this. I've never had many enemies," he explained. "a feew clients have had a few complaints but never to such an extent…"

"The killer isn't driven by personal grudges," she told him.

He looked confused. "So, why is he murdering people?"

"He bears a grudge against the entire world. Fate, his past."

Mr. Sourian's eyes wandered over to the books. "Yes, I've read about this. The victims are essentially irrelevant."

She nodded. "But they match the scheme he's been creating. And he chooses them very carefully."

"Still, why me? I don't have anything to do with this."

"You can't reason with a killer's logic, Mr. Sourian."

"What I mean is, you must have falsely judged the situation," he replied.

Brittany held in a sigh. She knew she HAD to convince him before it was too late. She could feel herself running out of time. "Listen, I was at the murderer's apartment not long ago. I'm pretty sure he chooses his victims using this bizarre formula and that you are his current target."

"What formula?"

"I don't know!" she said loudly, frustrated with him and the lack of information she had herself. "But for every victim, he's been reconstructing a family tree that dates back to the French Revolution."

A strange look came over his face. "This makes me think of… Well it's probably irrelevant but can you give me the names of the victims?"

Brittany pulled out the list she kept in her notebook. "Luke Crespienne, Marie Parker, Jeanne Murphy, Elizabeth Soupault, Gilbert Marmontal, René Fourier. I also have some photos of his notes and some genealogical research done by the killer." She showed him her camera.

"Unfortunately I can't see very well but I'd like to take a closer look at this."

"Do you have a computer?" She asked.

He shook his head no. "Sorry, I'm very old fashioned."

"How about I print them out?"

"That's a very good idea. In the meantime, I'll go through my archives to find a certain list," he replied, standing up.

"Okay, so I'll go print the photos."

"You can do that at the shop. I'll be here waiting for you."

Quickly, Brittany left the antiquarian. The sun was beating down hard and the town was as empty as ever. She saw a sign for a shop right across the street. She headed over there, but was disappointed to find it closed.

_Just my luck, _she thought. Brittany decided to head back to the antiquarian. She saw Mr. Sourian looking hastily through stacks of documents.

"I couldn't develop the photos," she told him, grabbing his attention. "The shop is closed."

"The owner is probably at the garage," he said.

"Oh, well I know where that is, she said. Brittany left and headed for the garage. Once there, she saw Paul, the owner of the shop, standing at a work table inside, but no one else.

"How are the repairs going," she asked, trying to be friendly.

He shrugged. "As well as they can."

"Have you happened to see the owner of that store around anywhere?"

He looked up at her. "That would be me." He smiled when he saw the surprised look on her face. "Like I said, this is a small town."

She smiled. "I'd like you to develop some photos at your shop please."

Paul nodded. "No problemo. Tomorrow morning?"

"I kind of need them now."

"I don't want to leave my work," he said.

"But I thought you said you didn't have the parts," Brittany said.

"I'd thought I'd take the car apart, then put it back together again," he replied. "You know, as an exercise."

"You better not. After you put it back together you'll be left with several parts that you'll have no idea what to do with."

"But then you'll have spare parts."

"Please," she begged. "Can you develop the photos for me now. Why does everything have to be for tomorrow?"

He sighed. "I can see that for you, everything has to be done for yesterday."

_Story of my life, _she thought. "Can we compromise and have it done for today?"

"I guess I have no choice," he said.

The two them two the short two minute walk back to the center of the time. Past the café, Paul led her to the shop and pulled out his keys. Inside, it felt hot and dusty. Brittany noticed that the placed seemed a bit old and in need of a little decoration, but it seemed like an organized little shop.

She handed him the camera as he walked to the back. She sat down on the chair next to a slot machine and started to think what her next move would be after leaving. She needed to get Mr. Sourian to a safe place, but what about the Puppeteer? He wouldn't stop killing, but just move on to the next person. She had to figure out who that was.

After a while, the mechanic slash store owner came out from the back. "I have your photos ready," he said.

She got up and walked to the counter. "Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

"68 euros."

"Can you add it to the bill of my car?" she asked.

"Oh, no, no, no, no. We could have gone and done it tomorrow, but you had to go and be stubborn."

She sighed. "Okay, give me a minute." Brittany turned away, thinking how she'd get enough euros to pay for everything. She glanced over by the slot machine and got an idea. "Can I borrow two euros, please?" Looking back at Paul.

He looked surprise. "You already owe me for the photos and the car."

She smiled, unwavering. "Yeah, but if I win the slot machine, I'll be able to pay both and I'll even let you keep the change."

He sighed and handed her two euros from his pocket. "Whatever, but that's two more euros you owe me."

She needed and walked over to the slot machine. It was very old and only some of the lights flickered while others must've died out years ago. She hesitated a bit. She had never gambled before.

Well, that was completely true. When she was fifteen, she and her sisters had been asked by Alvin to come over and see some surprise he had. Turns out it was a slot machine.

"How do you guys like it?" He asked.

"I cannot believe you bought that thing," Jeanette said.

"Yeah Alvin," Theodore said, looking worried. "Dave's going to be mad when he sees it here."

"Where did you get it?" Eleanor asked.

"They were auctioning it off from a casino that was going out of business. They were selling it for thirty dollars. Apparently, no one's ever been able to win it and it still has a nice sum of cash," Alvin explained.

"You'll never win it," Brittany said.

He smiled. "Watch me."

So for the next three days, Alvin had found all the quarters he could and started playing that machine over and over again. When the fourth day hit, she couldn't help but to gloat in his face.

"I told you you'd never be able to win."

He rolled his eyes. "Like you could do any better."

"I bet you I can do way better than you."

"Fine let's bet on it," he said.

The others sighed. "Please, you two, don't get in another fight," Eleanor said.

"Were not fighting," Brittany replied. "Just having a friendly bet that I'm going to win."

"Okay," Alvin said, handing her a quarter. "Here's what we'll do. You play, and if you lose, you pay me thirty dollars. If you win, you get the money. Think you're up for it?"

She huffed and slipped the quarter into the machine slot. A second later, the machine made a _Ding Ding _noise and coins started to filter out. Everyone stared in shock.

Brittany smirked. "I guess I win."

She smiled, staring at the machine in front of her. That had been one of her best victories yet against Alvin. But the truth was, it had been pure luck, which is what she prayed for right now as she slipped the two euros into the coin slot.

A second later, the machine started to make noise as coins started to filter out. Just like before, she had won. She picked up the coins and dragged them over to Paul. "Here you go," she said.

He looked shocked. "Wow, Ms. Miller, you must be a great gambler," he said.

"Sorry, but I usual reserve my luck for something more useful then gambling."

He nodded and handed her the photos. "Thanks, I'll see you soon." Brittany hurried over to the Antiquarian to take the photos to Antoine. She saw him, inside, reading some papers at his desk.

"I brought the photos," she said.

He took them and examined them for a few minutes. "Yes, it is precisely what I thought it was."

"What did you think it was?"

"These names you gave me, they are the same ones on this old document." He got up and walked to th othe end of the library for a moment, then came back.

"Do you understand the danger now?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "But what about the motive? Revenge after 200 years? That's insane!"

"I didn't see insanity was ruled out. All serial killers are deeply disturbed," she said.

"But this is not the Corsican vendetta!"

"Maybe the motive is money," she said.

He thought about it for a moment. "The aristocrats offered a fortune for their liberty but… As far as I know, none of the people involved got to see the money. In all likely hood, it was hidden in the catacombs of Paris."

"But that still doesn't explain these murders," she said. "I'll drive you in my car to Paris. Your not safe here."

"I could ask the local police for help," he offered.

Brittany shook her head quickly. "They're not familiar with the case and we don't have time to convince them."

"Is it this dangerous?" She nodded. "Well," he said, "I can't just leave lie that, there's one more thing I need to take care of."

She held in a sigh. This was wasting way to much time. "Well, what is it?"

"My grandson left his motorcycle with me," Antoine explained. "He had a crash, but he didn't get hurt. He had to ask the mechanic, Paul, to fix it."

"Where is he? Do you think he's in danger?"

"He might be, but he went surfing in Australia."

"Well then I'm sure he's safe," she said. "So where's his motorcycle?"

"In the back, behind the house," he said. "Here is the key if you want." He pulled the drawer open and handed her a key he took from inside it.

"Thanks now hurry and get packed," she said. He nodded and headed up the spiral steps to the right.

Brittany took the key and headed for the bac garden. Once, outside, she saw the motorcycle. It wasn't in too bad shape, except for the fact it's tire was missing.

She left the Antiquarian and headed down towards Paul's mechanic shop. She found him in the garage, messing with an engine. "Paul," she said. "Did you ever fix that tire for Mr. Sourian's grandson?"

He glanced up at her. "He didn't say it was urgent."

She knew what that meant. "So, can you fix it now?"

"No way, I can't be doing so many things at once."

She sighed. "Well, give me the tire. It won't be hard to fix."

"I don't have any more fixing kits," he said. "And the rim is bent and isn't holding any air. So unless you want to help, then it can't be fixed right now."

Brittany had the feeling if she didn't do help, it wasn't going to get done. "Fine, what do you want me to do?"

He gave her instructions to check and see if the wheel was punctured and bring it to him with the tire iron. She checked the wheel that sat in the corner. It did have a puncture on the side of it. She picked it up and the tire iron off the shelf and brought it to him.

"Thanks," he said. "Now, see that air compressor?" She looked to where he nodded and an air compressor sat near the entrance. "There's a tube there. See if it has a whole in it."

Brittany walked over to the air compressor and tried to fill the tube with air. When it started to deflate, she found a hole on the underside. She marked where it was and brought it over to Paul.

"I found where the whole is."

"Okay, let me find the patches," he said, starting to look through the shelves. A few minutes later, he was able to find them.

"So are you about done with that tire?"

"Why are you so impatient?"

"I'm getting anxious," she said. She knew they didn't have much time left.

"I'm sorry but you'll just have to wait a little longer."

So, that was that. Brittany waited for about twenty minutes, wondering when he'd finally get done.

"Well," he said, handing her the tire. "I'm finished. Are you satisfied?"

Brittany nodded and took the tire. "Yes. Thanks Paul." She left the mechanics quickly and headed for the Antiquarian's. As she walked, tire in hands, she thought of how they'd get out of here. The best solution though, was to take the motorcycle. They couldn't wait a few days for a car to be fixed.

Brittany set the tire on the front side of the shop. When she put her hand on the door, she felt a sudden chill run up her arm, which was strange since it was so hot.

But something was wrong. Slowly, she cracked the door open. She didn't hear anything. As she slipped inside, she gasped at what she saw.

There was Mr. Sourian, hanging like a puppet on the side of the stairwell. The strings were strung every which way to hold his still body up.

Brittany ran up to him, unhooking the strings and pulling him down. "Mr. Sourian? Mr. Sourian?" She said, but there was no answer or a pulse.

She stepped back, feeling a sudden rush of anger and sadness. _Was there really nothing I could do?_

* * *

**I'll be updating the next chapter, Super soon! See ya then!**


	11. Be Ready to Run

**Yeah, like I promised, this chapter is here! **

**So yeah, once more I apologize for so little updates but I'm a trying. So anyway I hope you like it!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**(Azzara, Spain 18, 18:40 hrs.)**

Brittany stepped away, shaking a little. Once again, no matter how hard she had tried, the Puppeteer was one step ahead of her. She had been so close to saving Mr. Sourian, but it was completely futile.

But it still wasn't making sense. Why? Why was he trying so hard to kill all these people. They had the same history, but that had nothing to do with now. She looked at the floor near his body. There was a doll sitting there. She took out a little evidence bag and placed the doll inside. It would be careless to leave it behind.

_I have to find out who's next, _she thought. But where were the documents he had? Suddenly, she remembered the safe in the back. She walked over to it standing up against the wall and saw scratches on the floor. It had been moved sometime earlier.

She saw a little bull sitting on the top. She started to mess with it head when he popped off. Inside, there was a piece of paper with a code on it. Hopefully, it was the one for the safe.

She put it in, and the door swung open. There wasn't anything remarkable inside. But there were to small wheels. She picked them up and examined them. _These must go on the side of the safe._

She closed the safe's door and put the wheels on the little bolts on the safe. It became easy to push aside.

Behind it, on the wall, was a small wooden compartment. She opened it and there were keys to the motorcycle and a piece of paper. She looked at it and it had a list of names. The first names weren't familiar, but the last ones were. They were the same last names of the people who have been killed, but the bottom was torn. The only other last name she could see was 'Carnot'.

She thought back to Louis Carnot, who had come to her, looking for Jack. He did have something to do with this. She pulled out his business card and checked the address. He was living in Marseilles. That was a little far, but her only lead.

Brittany went to the front and got the tire and went back into the garden. She needed to fix this motorcycle quick and head for Louis'.

It took her a while, but she was able to get the tire onto the motorcycle. She opened the back gate and started it up.

_Marseilles, here I come._

* * *

**(Marseilles, Spain 19, 19:21)**

Brittany stopped the motorcycle in front of an older looking tan wall. She parked her motorcycle and walked up to the front gate and pulled the little bell on the side. She looked through the gate and saw a beautiful large house in the back.

A large, bulky guard came to the gate. A dog walked up beside him. "What?"

"Can I come in," she asked nicely. "I want to see Monsieur Carnot."

"Half the city wants to see him. Do you have an appointment?"

"In Paris, he asked me for help in concerning… a friend."

He didn't even blink. "I asked, do you have an appointment?"

"No," she said. "But he was the one who asked a favor of me. He left me his business card."

He shrugged. "You might as well have found it on the street. The boss doesn't see anyone without an appointment."

She crossed her arms, irritated. "How am I supposed to get one? It has a Paris area code."

"I can't dispose his phone number. The boss like his privacy."

"So how am I supposed to get an appointment?" She asked, angrily. This was getting nowhere.

"I could pass on a message," he offered, half-heartedly.

She shook her head. "No, I have to talk to him privately."

"I'm afraid that's impossible," he said. "Now I think it's best you leave." He stood there, waiting for Brittany to move.

She sighed and walked to the right, out of view, towards her motorcycle. When she heard him walk off, she came back to the date. It was locked tight and she didn't want to take the chance, especially with the dogs.

_Okay, Brittany. You need a plan, _she thought. She walked past the gate and walked a few feet down the road in front of the large, old wall. There was a spot where she saw a dent in the top. If she could find some rope and something to hook on the wall, it would be easy. But the only thing was that she needed to find a way to distract the guard while she climbed the wall.

She looked back and saw a phone booth. She walked inside and saw I little film bottle inside. She opened it and found a little rubber sucker inside. She suddenly got an idea.

Brittany hurried back to the gate and saw a little place above the bell. She had a plan, but needed to find something to help her over the wall.

Across from the wall was very small harbor. She walked down the little rock path and saw an anchor holding sown one of the boats. She pulled it out along with the rope. She also pulled out a bucket from the wrecked boat and put some water in the little film bottle she had found. She also found a screwdriver in the bucket. She took it just in case.

After putting the rope and anchor next to the wall, she went back to the gate with the bucket and turned it upside down. Getting on top of it, she opened the film bottle's cap and pulled the aspirin from the Moulin Rouge out of her pocket and put the in the bottle.

She remembered that, in her sixth grade Home EC class, Alvin had been her partner and there had to bake a cake. When he asked her to get flour, she hadn't known he had rigged it with some water and aspirin. The second she opened it, flour exploded into her face and it had been unforgettable around school for weeks.

But she would have never guessed that she'd be using this trick now.

Brittany set the bottle on top of the bell. She quickly picked up the bucket, through it back to the harbor, and hurried back to the wall with the rope. Seconds later, she heard the bell and the dogs started to bark.

_That's my queue. _She through the anchor and rope over the wall and climbed up. She threw the rope and her body over and cut for the house fast, in fear of being detected by the dogs. She crouched down near one of the bushes and waited. It became silent.

She left her hiding place and went to the front of the home. It looked like a large castle from the outside. She went up to the door and saw a guard, sleeping in the chair in the hallway by a door. She couldn't risk going in this way,

She walked of the front porch and went to the side wall and saw a small window near the ground. I looked through and al; she could tell was that it led to a basement. She needed to open the window but breaking it would make too much noise and it's lock was in the inside.

She tried to think if she had something that could cut the glass. She pulled out the ring that she had gotten from the Moulin Rouge. If the diamond really was real, it would cut the glass. She pulled out the little screwdriver and rubber sucker.

Brittany stuck the ring and rubber sucker onto the window and used the screwdriver to turn it. She heard a pop and the glass came out. She unlocked the window and pulled the window open. The musky scent of the basement hit her hard and she redlined a bit but sucked in her breath and went in.

She landed to the floor hard on her feet. She walked into the center of the basement and gasped. Leaning against one of the wall kegs, was Jack Dupree.

"Jack Dupree!" She said, running up to him. He had his hands tied behind his back and tape over his mouth. "I can't believe you're alive!"

"Bluw froo nfhds," was his reply from behind the tape. She ripped it off his mouth. "OW!"

"Shhh!" She said. "You'll wake the guard, Dupree."

He sighed. "Call me Jack," he said.

"And you can call me Brittany. I mean, it's only the new thing to fraternize wit a killer."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a murderer!"

"I don't know if I should believe you," she said. "How did you escape that attempt on the bridge?"

"Easy, it was staged."

She blinked, and suddenly it started to make sense. "So it was a performance. Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself."

"Not really. My bones still ache," he said.

"Tell me why then."

He took a deep breath and started to explain. "I had to disappear so the police wouldn't find me. And those stories I told you, they were the truth. I thought that is I was murdered in front of you, everyone would believe I was being framed."

"Well I did believe you," she admitted. "But now that I know it was all staged, what am I supposed to believe now?"

"Can you please fee me?"

"Not yet, I still have questions," she said. "Now, tell me how is it possible for a man on the run from the police can arrange such a spectacular stunt?"

He sighed. "That wasn't my idea. I wasn't thinking straight at the time."

"Whose idea was it then?" She asked skeptically.

"I got a call from Marc Twain, the man who helped me with my search. You know, the one who wrote those letters."

"Twain?" _So the killer's been posing as him for a really long time then._

"I don't know how," he continued. "But he knew how deep in trouble I was. But he offered to help me out and what was I supposed to do?"

"And that's why we met on the bridge!"

"It was Taine who arranged the whole thing," he said.

"I don't believe it. He's been pulling these strings and every move I've made. He's arranged all of this to happen," Brittany said angrily. "Just wait 'til I get my hands on him."

"But, he helped me."

"It's because he probably needs you. Most likely, he's going to kill you later." This meant she really didn't have time. "Listen, I found a fragment of a map in that box. What's its purpose?"

"It had the subsequent legs of the journey sketched out on it," Jack told her.

"So this fragment is Marseilles?"

"Yes. Two hundred years ago, this palace used to belong to my ancestors."

"What could be on the other fragments?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. One of them should show where the reward was hidden."

"So I'm guessing this final fragment," she said, pulling the map piece out of her pocket, "was to be given after the mission was completed." Brittany sighed. "I still don't see what these killings have to do with the story. And why would Louis Carnot be doing this?"

"I don't know," Jack agreed. "He doesn't strike me as the crazy type. Why did he kill poor Jacqueline?"

"Maybe to frame you." Brittany started to think back when Carnot came to her in Paris. "His personality doesn't fit the killer's M.O. but so much leads back to him."

"You," she continued. "these murders are highly ritualized. The dolls the killer leaves behind are dating back two hundred years."

"But why the victims?"

"I don't know, but they're direct descendants of the people from back then," she said. "Do you know why Carnot is keeping you here."

"I saw him, in my apartment arranging Jacqueline's body," he confessed. "I was scared so I took off."

Maybe Carnot was the killer, but something, really didn't make sense. It was obvious he was involved, but something about him killing people just didn't make sense.

"Jack, I'll have to find something to cut those ropes. Sit tight."

"Hurry, okay? I don't want to spend another night here."

She turned away and saw a key on the floor. "Do you know what this is?"

"I don't know but I think the guard dropped it on the floor."

"Hopefully it's to a door or a safe," she said. "I'll be back."

Brittany turned and headed toward the corridor. She went up the stairs and through the door. It led her to the main hall. Immediately, she noticed the guard, sleeping in the chair. Quietly, she started to tip-toe towards the stairs. She squealed when she bumped into the table.

Luckily, the guard didn't budge. _I've got to be more careful._

As quickly as she could, she tip-toed to the stairs and barely breathed until she was up them. She saw a door that had Carnot's initials on it.

She used the key on the door and in opened. She silently went inside and made sure she locked the door behind her. She also left the key in the lock.

The room seemed like a small library den room. To the right was a bookshelf, to the left was the window, and sitting in the middle was a fireplace and some seats. She looked through the open window into the front yard and saw that the sun was starting to set. _I better hurry._

She went to the fireplace and looked at a picture on top next to a little copper statue. It was Louis and someone who looked similar. It must be his brother. Louis was also wearing a bracelet, the same one she found in Paris. Behind the picture was a little square ornament. She picked it up and saw that it had a screw sticking out of its back.

Brittany stepped back and walked to the bookshelf. Something about the middle shelf seemed odd, as if it was added later. She took down the books and found that the three shelves came off. There was a door. She opened it and saw a picture. It looked similar to the square ornament she had found, so she slipped the piece in the empty spot. There was a _click!_ And a passageway revealed itself.

"Amazing," she mumbled, stepping through. Straight down, there was an old, moldy bedroom. On a table, she noticed a piece of map. She took out her piece and put it together. It fit, but there was still some missing.

She turned and walked out the room. It was time to go looking for something to cut the ropes binding Jack…

_Jiggle! Jiggle! _The door started to move. Someone was coming in!

Brittany gasped. There was nowhere to hide and that room would just have her cornered. She looked at the map in her hands. _I can't let them find me with this._

Thinking quick, she went to the fireplace and picked up the copper statue. She rapped the map around it and taped it. Brittany ran to the window and threw it out just as the doors swung open.

Two guards raced in. One had a gun and a menacing look on his face. "We've been looking for you."

* * *

Downstairs in the main hall, Brittany stood in front of the guards and their two Rottweilers. "Look what the dog's found," the first one said.

_Stay calm Brittany, _she told herself. _You can talk your way out of this. _"Gentlemen," she said sweetly. "I have completely lost my way in this lovely palace. I just don't know how to find my way out."

"Did you hear that?" The he said, humored. "She can get in, but she can't get out."

"Did you let her in?"

"No, why would I do that?"

"Well then you make a crappy guard," he relied to his buddy.

"Monsieur Carnot asked for my help, which is why I'm here," she tried to explain.

She just won't shut up about that," the second one said.

"When will he be back?"

The first one pulled out his gun. "How about we just shoot her?"

"No," the other said. "How about we make a bet out of this?"

"How so?"

"We let her run, then set the dog's after her. That way, there's no real mess to clean up."

The other guard smiled and nodded. "Okay. I think the dogs will catch her."

"Nah, look at her. She's got the legs of a gazelle. I bet she can run pretty fast."

She gulped, trying to keep her composure, but it was getting harder. She could feel her legs starting to shake. "Gentlemen, please, I know you're upset with me but this has to be a joke, right?"

"Nope," the first one replied bluntly and smiled. "But we'll give you a head start."

"Yeah," the other agreed. "Five seconds. We don't want a slaughter on the floor."

She backed away a little as the dogs started to growl. "Please, can't we come to some kind of understanding?"

"You should have thought of that before coming in here."

"But I was just trying to contact Carnot. It's urgent."

"Your just trying to save that pretty little ass of yours."

"Please," she said pleadingly. "Let me go already."

They smiled. "When we do, I suggest you start running. Fast."

"Let's bet a hundred."

"Alright," he replied. "Well, sweetheart, off you go. Three… Two… One… GO!"

Brittany turned and ran for the front door. Bursting through, she ran into the darkness. She could hear the dogs coming after her.

She barely stopped to pick up the little statue on the ground. After grabbing it, she headed for the wall. The dogs were closing in as she grabbed onto the rope. As she started to climb, she heard a tear. She looked up and saw the rope was about to pop.

The dogs were right under her now and she reached up for the wall. _So close…_ But it was too late. The rope snapped and she felt herself falling. She was bracing herself to feel the dogs clamp their teeth around her.

Suddenly, she stopped falling. Someone had grabbed her hand. "Come on!" She lifted her body up just as a dog jumped at her heels. She had been saved.

This time.


End file.
